The Wizard from Earth
by Morta's Priest
Summary: Living for a century is an accomplishment, even for a wizard. Two is a rarity. Living them all? That is the territory of the gods. Harry Potter remembers a cat's glowing eyes, a strange old man with a wicked smile, and pain. It is the year 3050 B.C.E. and he has all of history as his future.
1. The Cat

**The Wizard From Earth** by Morta's Priest

* * *

**Chapter 1 - The Cat  
**

He hurt everywhere. Harry tried to get to his feet, but the world wouldn't stop spinning, and he collapsed again. His eyes wouldn't open; it felt like they were stitched shut. He tried to speak, but nothing would come out.

Someone was speaking. He didn't know what they were saying, but he focused on the feminine tones to try and make out something. Definitely not English. Probably some form of Arabic, then, considering where he was. Cold hands touched his eyes and Harry winced as a spike of pain ran from his head to his toes and back. His skin was sensitive to the touch; very sensitive. He wondered briefly if he'd managed to contract some horrible disease without realizing it.

Two shining eyes. He remembered those. There had been glowing yellow eyes, staring at him from the darkness. When had he seen that? He didn't know why that memory was so strong, but it stood out. He tried to move his arms, and found to his relief that he was holding his wand. His hand was cramped around it tightly, and he couldn't loosen his fingers.

The woman spoke again, and her tone was soothing. Cold water was poured over his face, and though it prickled uncomfortably on his skin, it brought some relief from the brooding heat. He tried to blink again, and found that a sliver of light occasionally broke through, those it seemed unbelievably distant.

Where had he been? What happened? He tried to remember. He'd been in Egypt, yes. He'd been somewhere in Egypt. Why had he been there? He racked his mind and the only thing that occurred to him was Ron's face, brown from the sun. There was another. Bill. Bill Weasley, curse breaker for Gringotts, the husband of Fleur.

That's what had happened. He'd been at a pyramid, one of the big ones in Egypt, during his vacation before he'd go back to Auror training. Right, he remembered now, he'd been standing in an abandoned hallway, all alone...

* * *

Where the hell were the others?

Harry rubbed his head tiredly. Bill Weasley's pitch had been quite convincing, true, talking about majestic pyramids and vast underground caverns that Muggles had never found, about fantastic creatures and intricately trapped burial grounds where curse breakers came to study and work from all across the globe. It'd seemed quite convincing at the time.

Bill hadn't mentioned the scorpions. Or the snakes. Or the fact that sand got absolutely _everywhere_. What's worse was that half the time using a spell to remove it could be fatal, around here. A lot of the defences left behind by ancient wizards reacted to spells being cast, and even the mildest were highly inconvenient, which was why spell-casting was only left to those actually working at the site.

Harry stared around at the poorly lit corridor with a frown. He'd gotten lost. Or, technically, the others had gotten lost, since he had no idea where Bill or Ron were, and a pretty good idea of his own position. He'd just spotted an interesting hieroglyph, stopped to admire the beautifully carved figures that spanned the entire wall, and when he'd turned around they'd vanished. He'd waited for ten minutes, whistling idly to himself. He couldn't use a tracking spell in here, since he'd probably end up mummified alive by a stray curse, and walking further in without a guide was basically suicide, even in one of the better-explored ruins. That left boredom.

Another ten minutes later, Harry finally realized that wherever Bill and Ron were, they'd either forgotten he was supposed to be there (in which case he'd have to curse them later), or they didn't know exactly which hallway he'd been left behind in. That wasn't an unbelievable proposition considering the vast amounts of nigh-identical paths that riddled the pyramids. Most of them had been enchanted invisible to Muggles by ancient wizards from Egypt, likely an equivalent of the modern Statute of Secrecy, and some were invisible even to wizards, unless they use magic to detect them.

"Just fantastic," Harry muttered, ruffling the sand from his hair as he traced his steps back to the outside of the pyramid. He had to take three lefts, then two rights, and then straight on. Not terribly difficult, but he knew that at least two of the side-routes led to most uncomfortable traps that previous explorers had ended up in. At least one of them contained a human skeleton in several different pieces, a large hole in his skull and both kneecaps. Most unpleasant. There was another corridor that allegedly went on forever – at the very least, nobody had yet broken the enchantment that caused that particular effect (and there were many who would love the apparent infinite expansion charm.)

After about ten minutes Harry emerged into daylight, finding himself near ground-level, decidedly further down from where he'd entered. With a chill he realized that he had to have picked the wrong path somewhere along the way. He leaned briefly against the wall as he considered what would've happened if he'd made a worse mistake. The sun was high in the sky and the stifling heat of the desert made him break out into a sweat, and he realized uncomfortably that it'd probably be this way for a while, given that he couldn't cast any cooling spells this close to the pyramid. He glanced back at it with a frown; it stretched hundreds of feet into the air and was even wider.

"You're back quite early," A white-clad older man commented with a pronounced accent. Harry vaguely remembered greeting him before he entered the monument, and nodded, joining him under the small sunshade he was using to keep at least moderately cool. The man chuckled softly. "There are many who do not dare to delve deeply into the pyramids. There are many enchantments that wizards don't yet know about. At least some of those spells are known to repulse people from the inner depths of these mighty structures, based on criteria few know anything about."

Harry glanced back at the pyramid and considered briefly that it'd been a spell that separated him from the others. "Curse-breakers identify those, don't they?"

The man nodded. "That's right. There are many that live here who like to forget that these mighty structures were built with magic which is now forgotten. I suppose it is a certain pride, shall we say. They like to think that they're descendants of those ancient wizards, rather than immigrants from later ages." He smiled, and Harry noticed he was missing several teeth.

Harry thought of Hogwarts, and the fact that there were still secrets in that ancient stronghold that people had never known, magic used that few had ever heard of. Even Voldemort himself had been proud of being Slytherin's heir, despite the relatively horrible state that the Gaunt family had been in. The connection, it seemed, had meant more to him than the technicalities. He supposed modern Egyptians too cared more about the connection that they shared this land, rather than the technical fact that the culture had vanished. "I suppose I can understand what you mean. Are you from around Bubastis, then?"

"Oh, no, I come from upstream," the man said, smiling slightly. "Heliopolis. Wonderful city, wonderful people. I haven't been there in quite a while, though. No, I like to spend my time seeing the world, these days. Oh, I just realized, I am being rude. Where are my manners?" He stuck out a hand and bowed slightly. "I am Khnurn, at your service."

"Nice to meet you, Khnr..." Harry tried, tripping over the pronunciation.

Khnurn laughed lightly, and Harry stopped trying to repeat the name. Khnurn shook his head in amusement."It is not a common name, I know; there are those who claim my mother is a most impossible woman."

Harry shook the man's hand, nodding. "Harry Potter."

"I had figured out that much," Khnurn said, glancing briefly at the scar – it had faded slightly since last year, but it was doubtful it'd ever fade entirely. Harry self-consciously made sure it was covered by his hair again. Khnurn looked on in amusement. "I am afraid that your stories have spread around the world, so there are few who won't recognize that scar. It is an honour to meet such an esteemed wizard from foreign lands."

Harry shrugged, embarrassed. "I just came here on a vacation, you know… two weeks, that's all. One of my friend's brothers sold me on the idea of coming here. I had hoped, and it's perhaps silly of me, that I could just be a tourist here."

"Tourists are alright, but to really understand Egypt, you have to live there, I think." Khnurn smiled. "I am glad that you like our cultural heritage enough to visit, though. I admit, I have a personal interest as well, and it is always nice to meet fellow enthusiasts."

"I hope to visit all sorts of places," Harry admitted. "So... Khnurn_,_" he said hesitantly. "What can you tell me about this place? Living here, you must know all kinds of things."

Khnurn shrugged. "Of course, of course. I suppose Egypt is best known for its illustrious history, among wizards and Muggles alike," Khnurn said. "There used to be a rich magical culture here that spanned from the earliest days of Muggle settlement all the way to the rise of Christianity, about two millennia back. What remained of the local culture at that time spread around the world, and it was Egyptian wizardry that inspired many foreign practices we think are really normal today. Wand-use first developed here, you know. The first confirmed magic in all the world."

"Really?" Harry asked. "I suppose I should've paid more attention in History of Magic." He smiled sheepishly. "In my defence, the teacher even bored himself to death."

"Paying attention in a History of Magic class can be most helpful, true," Khnurn said, smirking. "I've found, though, that it's not knowledge of specific events that helpful in understanding ancient people, rather than their mentality, the way they handled things." He put a hand on the rough stones of the vast monument. "This here's a tomb, after all. The ancient Egyptians had a great respect for the dead, especially their leaders. They were buried in such massive monuments as this one, because of the belief that the deceased would ascend to godhood. In those days, religion and magic were far more intertwined than they are today; mighty wizards named themselves gods, and there were precious few who would question their authority. It is a small wonder that as far as we're aware, there was no Wizard Pharaoh. Really, the intertwined nature of the two continued until well into the modern era, when Christianity finally declared that witchcraft was evil, and the following unrest and fear among Muggles led to the International Statute of Secrecy. It's not really that important to know exactly how these tombs were built, rather than _why_. These were different people than we are."

"There are religious wizards, today," Harry pointed out. "I know of at least a few that follow Pagan traditions, and even some Christians."

"True, true, but that's simply side-by-side, not mixed. Why do you think that religion and the supernatural are so inextricably linked? Why vampires are repulsed by holy objects, why magical powers are claimed to be created by any number of deities?" He smiled. "Perhaps you should consider that."

"You sound like a philosopher," Harry said in amusement.

"Well, I do know a bit about history and philosophical thought," Khnurn admitted. "Perhaps I should tell you about the history of this particular village, and how it came to have such a majestic pyramid, given how small it was. It's quite an interesting tale, and I'm sure it would shock quite a few people, considering how it contradicts what they claim to know about history..."

Harry hesitated in answering. He'd realized that he was standing in a pretty secluded spot, well away from where he'd first entered the pyramid; he'd not easily be found by the others, here. Granted, learning a little more about this place would be interesting and he was mildly interested in the ancient Egyptian wizards of this region, but he had to find the others. This particular monument had dozens of exits, all of which looked the same, and going back in was a bad idea. His best bet was probably to head back to his tent, and wait for the others there. Khnurn seemed to pick up on his indecisiveness.

"I suppose listening to an old fool like me isn't really what interests the modern youth," he said with a smile and a wink. "It's not that important, anyway. You'll figure it out on your own, I'm sure. I should be heading back to the river to catch my ride, in any case."

"Your ride?"

"Yes. A ship," Khnurn responded. "Her name is Mesektet_; _I built her myself, you know. These days I usually have someone sail it for me, though. I'm not quite as strong as I used to be." He smiled as he prodded his spindly arm. "Enjoy your stay in the Land of the Pharaohs, and make sure to keep your wand on you, especially in the seedier parts of town. I'll be seeing you, Harry Potter."

Harry nodded and waved him off as the old man wandered away. It was doubtful that Harry would get back to Egypt any time soon, but it was a nice thought anyway. Running into locals that could actually speak English was remarkably rare. He gazed up at the pyramid once more, wondering despite himself what the story of its origin would have been. Why _did_ some ancient people build a massive tomb out here, in the middle of nowhere?

Finally he turned towards the little village at the foot of the monument, where his tent was. Perhaps he could grab his two-way mirror and contact home while he waited for the Weasley brothers to get there.

* * *

Harry started as someone quite suddenly pressed a cup to his lips. He took a few sips of whatever he'd been offered. Was it medicine, perhaps? He tried to say something, but no words would come out. He blearily tried to open his eyes again, coughing. The intense discomfort on his skin was lessening noticeably, now. The swelling on his eyes was finally decreasing too. He'd apparently manage to get his entire body swollen up beyond recognition. What kind of disease did he manage to get? His eyes worked, at least, but without his glasses he saw little more than vague shapes; the only thing he could make out occasionally was a dark-skinned face of the woman who treated him. Her expression betrayed pity, if anything.

He slept in fits and spurts, and sometimes when he woke there was someone else there. A tall man, too tall for him to make out a face with any detail, but he had dark hair and wore something shiny around his neck. A single time there had been an elderly woman, grey hair tucked behind her ears and her eyes glazed over in blindness. She'd said quite a few things in several different languages. Harry recognized that there were differences, but none of them had any meaning to him.

He'd tried to enunciate a word – his tongue was swollen, so it was difficult. He'd managed to get out 'English'. The word, it seemed, hadn't had any particular meaning to them, since nobody responded.

It was the fourth day – well, if he hadn't skipped any while sleeping – that he finally managed to get upright without collapsing. He was wearing some kind of odd robe, brown and tattered around the edges. What remained of his original clothes was in the corner, cut into bits and pieces and spattered with pus and blood. Definitely not something he'd wear again, then. Someone had strapped something on his head. He'd thought that he'd just been bandaged up, but it felt more like a sort of coarse leather, now that he could touch it. Two primitive sandals stood next to the slab he'd been occupying. He couldn't really describe it as a bed; it was barely even raised off the ground, and padded with some kind of straw.

"Where the _hell_ am I?" he asked finally, though it came out in a jumbled heap. It didn't matter – he'd seen no sign that anyone even spoke English, let alone understood it. Was he even among wizards anymore? He'd certainly seen no wands.

His head still pounded as he set his first hesitant step the edge of the hut, which was barely kept upright by several wooden beams strapped together with some kind of fabric covering it – really, it barely counted as a proper dwelling. He tried to recall how he'd ended up here, in the care of these people, but whenever he did painful spikes shot through his cranium and he almost collapse.

Blinking against the light, Harry finally managed to look around: He was on the outskirts of some kind of village. There were quite a few people out, many of them wearing rather little. In the distance he could see some kind of monument; an obelisk of some kind. It was rather brightly painted, and Harry frowned.

Suddenly someone grabbed his shoulder, and Harry started. It took him a moment to realize that it was the woman he'd been seeing, staring at him with something between astonishment and happiness. She muttered something in her language – Harry couldn't make out a word – and gestured.

"I'm sorry, I don't…" Harry started, wincing as his skull felt like someone had just slammed on it like a gong. "I don't understand what you're saying."

The woman seemed to understand, frowning. She said another few words and then tapped herself on the chest. "Ahaneith." She cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow. Harry frowned.

"Ahaneith?" When she smiled and nodded, Harry felt encouraged. That had to be her name, then. You had to start somewhere, he supposed. He clumsily imitated her, tapping his chest. "Harry."

She repeated the name, sounding rather different than the way he said it, then she gave a bow. Harry wasn't sure what to make of that. He made his way back inside so he could rest for a bit on the straw cover of the 'bed', since his legs were beginning to throb and his head still felt like it was unscrewed. Ahaneith followed him, though she didn't seem to know what to do.

"Water," Harry said, making a drinking motion. "Water."

The woman nodded immediately, stepping outside; a few moments later she returned with something that was most definitely not water. Harry carefully sipped from the cup he was offered – a clay cup, of all things – and blinked. It was _beer._ He glanced at Ahaneith who looked nervously at the cup and then at him, and Harry nodded in appreciation, which seemed to be what she was looking for, as she smiled widely and gave another bow.

"Sure are some courteous people here," Harry said in amazement; the hut clearly belonged to someone who lived in poverty, with little in the ways of food and drink, yet Ahaneith, probably the woman who owned this place, was lending it out without complaint to a sick person, and even giving him alcoholic beverages instead of tap water. Of course, it didn't look like she had that either. He'd have to remember to give her a good sum from his vaults after he got back home, so she could get out of here.

The beer was surprisingly good – it was actually fairly cool, a small miracle out here in the desert, and considering butterbeer didn't have any alcohol in it, he'd not tasted anything quite like it in ages. Not since that time that he'd been slipped Fire-whiskey.

Suddenly a sound broke the silence, and Harry glanced to Ahaneith, who was looking at the floor. A black cat strode in like it owned the place, placing itself next to the makeshift bed. He remembered this – shining eyes. A cat's eyes. That had been when he was sitting on his bed in the old Weasley tent that Bill had brought with him to Egypt. He'd had the mirror in front of him...

* * *

Harry looked apologetically at Hermione, trying to cover for his forgetful friends. He squatted on his bed with the two-way mirror in his hand, recovering from the dusty heat. "Just calm down, please."

"I can't believe those two, though!" Hermione said from the mirror's surface, fuming. "Of all the irresponsible, idiotic-"

"I'm perfectly fine," Harry said a little sharper than he'd intended. "I don't even have sunburn. Honestly, it's probably just a mistake, nothing more. I suppose that whatever was in that pyramid was really interesting."

Hermione sighed. "Just make sure to contact me when Ron gets back – I'll give him an earful." She paused for a moment. "You _are_ enjoying your stay, right? Because if you're just being left behind, it's not much of a vacation."

"Yes, it's interesting," Harry assured her. "In fact, I ran into a wizard earlier, his name was Knurk or something else bizarre like that, who told me a bit about how wizardry used to be so entwined with religions. It was actually kind of interesting." He frowned after a moment. "Hey, do you happen to know why there's a pyramid here, exactly? Knu- well, that man was about to tell me, but I think he didn't like my impatience at Ron and Bill."

Hermione hummed under her breath and narrowed her eyes. "You're near Bubastis, right? I'd have to look it up, but I'm _almost_ positive that it's unknown why it's there. Supposedly it's the only pyramid that doesn't belong to a known Pharaoh, which makes it pretty unusual. Muggles don't even know about its existence, as you've probably figured out."

"Yeah, I knew that much." Harry frowned as he thought back to the meeting with that man. He's been quite straight-forward about wanting to tell him the origin of the pyramid. Did he know something Hermione didn't (which would be a small miracle) or had he simply been talking nonsense? He smiled sheepishly at Hermione. "I suppose this is what you get when you skip the tour. I'll ask Bill when he comes back."

Hermione nodded. "Tell him that Gringotts is still sending him letters. They're just delivering them to Mrs. Weasley instead. I think the goblins are miffed that one of their own would go to Egypt and not break curses for them while he's there." She smiled. "Take care of yourself, will you?"

"Of course," Harry said. He blinked as he heard a scratching noise that he vaguely recognized. "Wait… did you hear that? Is Crookshanks tearing up the place again?"

"Hear what?" Hermione wondered, and Harry glanced around the tent carefully. That scratching sound had come from awfully close, if it hadn't come from Hermione's end. "Harry?"

"Hold on, there's something here..." Harry crouched down, pulling the blanket up from his bed and peering under it. Two bright eyes stared at him, seeming to glow with an inner light in the shadow. Harry smiled as he held out his hand carefully. "Come on then, this is no place for a wild animal."

The cat purred softly as it slowly edged forward, and Harry smiled good-naturedly at it. This was a little better than the last few times he'd heard odd noises in his tent, when it'd turned out that the refreshing cooling spells cast on it attracted all sorts of creepy crawly wildlife. The time a cobra had managed to make its way in (despite numerous protective spells) he'd almost wished he could still speak Parseltongue.

"Harry, are you still there?"

He glanced up, grabbing the mirror from the bed again. "Sorry, I found an uninvited guest." He turned the mirror towards the beautiful black cat, which shrank back. "Do you suppose he brings bad luck?"

Hermione scoffed, and the cat cast a distrustful look towards the mirror before edging away. It made an odd noise – it almost sounded like _chirping_ and Harry cast a confused look at the mirror. That was definitely not a noise he'd heard a cat make before. Hermione frowned, then her eyes widened in recognition. "Harry, it's an Egyptian Mau! Those are pretty hard to come by, you know. Quite a rare breed: Supposedly they're one of the oldest breeds of cats in the world, thousands of years old. Maybe you should find out if it belongs to anyone?"

"It's not wearing any identification," Harry muttered distractedly, luring it forward again. "Come out, it's okay…"

Suddenly the cat hissed, jumping right at the friendly hand with claws extended. Harry flinched back as its claws raked past his arm, drawing blood. In an instant it was at the tent-flap, staring at him with those bright eyes. Hermione asked something but he'd dropped her painting face-down on the ground and it sounded distinctly muffled. Harry stared at the cat in consternation as it carelessly licked the drops of blood from its claws.

His arm had taken quite a beating – four bright lines were scratched across his entire fore-arm, two of them bleeding slightly. Harry pulled out his wand and quickly went through the healing spells he knew. Suddenly an intense feeling of weakness radiated out from the wounds up his arm, and he almost dropped his wand right then and there. That was familiar. Way too familiar.

"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed, quickly turning over the mirror again. "Hermione, there's not any venomous cats, right?" He closed the scratches with his wand, another spark of pain travelling through the limb. The cold sensation reminded him far too much of the Basilisk's bite in second year, and it was far too quick to be any less potent. "Magical cats, maybe?"

"Venomous?" Hermione repeated, blinking. "Not that I know of, beyond the Nundu, and I think you'd recognize those. What did you do?"

"The cat, it scratched me," Harry muttered, rubbing his arm. "Bloody hell, it's painful." He held his arm up to the mirror and blanched. Right where he'd been scratched the skin was swelling up, ugly and red, oozing more blood than it had at first. He heard a gasp from the mirror, and looked into it. "Hermione, whatever it was, it got me with _something_. Where can I find a healer?" He blinked, realizing that things were wobbling around him, and he was feeling a little drowsy. Fearfully, he clasped the mirror tight. "Something is really wrong, I think. Get me a healer!"

"There's no floo anywhere near you… oh, I know someone who could make a Portkey! I'm going to find someone, hold on!" She dropped the mirror, and Harry sighed as her face vanished. He winced as his arm throbbed painfully. That blasted cat was still there, staring at him from just outside the tent, its luminous eyes fixed on him. Harry grabbed his wand and aimed. "_Stupefy_!"

He missed. The animal was agile enough to get out of the way, and Harry was after it with his wand out, forcing himself to ignore the pain. He needed to catch it, he was sure. If there was no such thing as a venomous cat, even a magical one, then someone had enchanted the creature, or dipped its claws in poison, and he'd need a sample. His entire forearm had swollen up, now, far too quickly for any Muggle malady. This was magical. Harry almost collapsed at the sudden return to the heat outside, but this time he _could _cast a Cooling Charm.

The cat sat a little distance away, licking its paw as if there was nothing wrong. A second Stunner was no more successful than the first as it quickly darted away, and Harry cursed loudly. His eyes were wandering off target and his vision got blurry. His head had begun beating like a drum, now. Basilisk venom? He realized uncomfortably that the symptoms were awfully similar. He looked again at the gashes on his arm. He really should've healed those: they were huge, now.

"Harry Potter."

Harry turned to look blearily at the one who'd spoken, somewhere to his side. With a start he realized it was the same man that he'd met earlier. Khnurn had been his name, or something similar. "You – help me catch that cat! It…" he paused. "I…" He didn't remember why he'd been chasing it. What had he been doing, anyway? His eyes wandered after the animal, and he saw the creature sitting on a low stone wall, its eyes bright. He was sure it was laughing. Why was it laughing? Harry shook his head, trying to focus. Why was everything getting so vague? This wasn't right. He was sick – he needed… "Help…"

The last thing he saw before he collapsed was Khnurn's sardonic smile. "Don't worry, Harry Potter. You'll be fine. For every joy there is a price to be paid."

* * *

Khnurn had been there, when he'd collapsed, and that blasted cat. He still didn't know what those words had meant, that he'd said at the end. Had he been the one that put that nasty cat in his tent? Harry looked around and noticed that Ahaneith had left him to his memories; even the cat had left. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to concentrate on what had happened, but the details were slipping away from him. Less than five minutes later, he was asleep again.

He spent the better part of a week like that, barely moving more than he had to, thinking about what had happened and wondering why nobody had found him yet. He'd tried to send a Patronus to Bill or Ron when there was nobody around, but the spell wouldn't work. It wasn't until today that he'd dared to try and step beyond the bed. He felt much better now physically, but looking at the fact that his host was obviously underfed and not looking too healthy herself, he did feel guilty about taking up her space for so long. Had he been sleeping in her bed?

It was getting awfully dark, and Harry distractedly lighted his wand so he could continue his work of cleaning up after himself, trying not to think of the fact that he reeked terribly. Ahaneith had a few personal effects – he'd scrounged up a few dull coins and stacked hem on the little stack of clay that served as a side-table, and there were a few odds and ends spread around the room. Still, she didn't have more than perhaps three sets of clothes, and he wasn't sure if that was an exaggeration, as one or two of what he thought as robes might be an excuse for a blanket. Whatever he was wearing was definitely not hers though; he was considerably taller than her, and it was still on the long side.

"Heru," said a voice, and Harry turned to find Ahaneith staring with open mouth – not at him, but at his wand. She was a _Muggle_.

"_Nox_!" Harry said quickly and the light vanished. His host immediately said something in a pleading tone. Harry didn't know what she meant but she stepped forward and grasped his wand hand, gesturing to the sky. Well, the damage was done, now. Harry glanced outside into the gloom, but there were few people around. He supposed if he kept the spell at a low luminosity, they wouldn't think it was anything more than a fire or lightbulb. He sighed and nodded. "_Lumos_."

Ahaneith stared with wide-eyed fascination at the magical light, glancing between it and its caster with a look that Harry didn't quite recognize, but was most definitely nervous about. She chattered on about something but Harry couldn't make heads or tails of it, and he lowered his wand to his side, frowning. It was all well and good that she'd spotted him using magic, but he didn't know how to obliviate someone; he was certainly not going to try after he saw what happened to Lockhart. Probably the Egyptian Aurors would have to take care of it, he supposed, though he had no idea how to contact them without finding other wizards first.

"Heru," Ahaneith said again, and Harry frowned.

"What is it? Should I put it out again?"

She stepped aside, and the tall man he vaguely remembered stepped up beside her, staring at the lighted wand as well for a long moment. He only had no shirt on, though he was wearing several long necklaces with small multi-coloured baubles on them. Strapped on his thigh was a small hammer. Harry sighed as his problem spread itself; he really shouldn't have recast his _Lumos_. The tall man stared at him, and then turned to Ahaneith. Harry wondered if the man was her husband; he wasn't around much if that was the case.

Whatever she said, it had some effect on him, as he glanced at Harry a few times with uncertainty. He heard his name come past a few times, and began to seriously doubt that it was Arabic. It was far choppier than he remembered from the few times he'd heard the language spoken. Then, the man did something incredible. Despite being at least a head taller than him and twice as wide, he sank to his knees, saying 'Heru' with something he now definitely recognized. Awe. Reverence. As if it was a sacred name.

Harry staggered back. "Bloody hell. Did I just start a religion?"

* * *

**Author's Note: **A little side-something that's probably going to be irregularly updated on the side while I work on Wand and Shield and The Leaf's Naruto. (DSHND and Torikaeru are similary irregular atm. :P)

Something that I'd going around my head for a while, but I never got around to writing it. Though it's not clear at this point yet, this is a variation of the same general plot idea that "Voldemort's Last Spell" and a few other stories went for. E.g. the Harry Potter living through history one, though timetravel involves neither time-turners nor the veil. The time of insertion, if you will, is first dynasty of Egypt, during the beginning of Pharaoh Djer's reign, which places this about 3045 B.C. outside the flashbacks.

Those that are into their Egyptian mythology may find that I am taking some actual names and characters from ancient history, though I have taken a few liberties in areas we know little to nothing. Especially where magic is concerned, of course.


	2. Cat's Town

**Chapter 2 – Cat's Town**

Bloody hell. Harry shook his head in disbelief as he looked at the complete stranger bowing at his feet - could this get any weirder?

"Get up, get up, there's no need for any of that," Harry said quickly, gesturing for the man to stand up. After a few moments of that he finally complied, though he kept his head bent all the while. Harry shook his head and tried to figure out a way to fix this. Getting people to bow to him was really not what he'd intended, and Harry briefly wondered what on Earth he was going to do about it. He didn't know their language, they didn't know his, and they were hardly going to forget about magic now that they'd seen it. Bloody hell.

Well, at least he could keep from informing even more people. He quickly cancelled the spell, returning the hut to darkness once more. He could fix things with the local Aurors if it was just two people who'd found out, but even his considerable reputation wouldn't save him from getting dragged to court again if he got too many involved. He slipped his wand behind the strip of fabric that served as his belt, making sure to hide it beneath the folds of the robe that he'd been handed. Oddly enough the loose-fitting clothing was actually something he'd seen several people wear, even if these were all Muggles. He'd assumed that it'd gone out of fashion, even out here, but evidently he was ill-informed.

His arm still hurt, and he studied it with some concern, particularly the place where he'd been scratched by that damn cat. The four stripes left behind by the attack had largely closed up, though he would probably be left with a set of scars. He distractedly ran a hand over the scar on his forehead as he thought of that, and frowned. It felt smoother than he remembered, almost like it was healing over at last. He quickly checked his other scars; Umbridge's scar on his hand, the basilisk's fang, the knife wound from Voldemort's resurrection. They too felt... different.

"What...?"

He frowned, realizing that there was something else that was different. He needed glasses. He didn't have any way to ask for them, though. Glasses were beyond his skill at transfiguration, too, since the curvature of the glass was really important for a successfully functioning lens, and that precision was far beyond his ability. He wondered where his original set had vanished to, since he hadn't seen it anywhere in or near the hut, and Ahaneith had collected everything else, even if most of his clothes were utterly ruined.

Harry noticed something odd, trying to figure out how bad it would be to live without glasses. The night was dark, _very_ dark, and the only lights he could see were small fires in the distance, flickering in a chilly breeze that came in from what was probably the Sahara, though shrubs and grassy patches confused him. Although he'd heard of places where even electrical light hadn't gotten in use yet, he was pretty sure Egypt didn't fall in that category. He didn't know why anyone would've moved him out to such a place either, rather than just bring him to a healer or the city.

He had to try and contact home. He didn't know apparition points nearby, and he wasn't sure he should be trying to backtrack when he didn't know precisely where he was in the first place. Perhaps he could try to find his way to a larger or town, where someone might have a phone. Bill, Ron, even Hermione had to be looking for him. Hopefully he'd soon find an owl nipping at his fingers, intent on delivering a Portkey. Harry smiled at the thought.

* * *

**2 DAYS LATER******** – 3050 B.C.E.**

Harry sat down against the clay wall of one of the few permanent structures in the small village, a small shrine. He stretched his arms and neck, glad to note that the last of the stiffness was finally going away. There were few people around to notice him as he enjoyed the relative coolness of the early evening.

None of the hundred or so people that lived here knew any English whatsoever, and most of them hesitant to even speak at all. (He supposed that his pale skin colour compared to theirs marked him as a foreigner, which certainly didn't help.) The only ones who even attempted to converse were Ahaneith and the man who sometimes accompanied her. It had taken him some time to deduce that his name was Nebit, though the language they spoke was otherwise still a mystery.

Harry had managed to conjure a fairly good mirror when everyone was gone, and to his astonishment the scar on his head was a shadow of its former self, though still slightly visible. Whatever had dumped him here had pretty thoroughly eradicated the remains of Voldemort's dark magic. He'd repeatedly tried to heal it up himself after the war, but it had never worked, and now all the wounds he'd gotten in his encounters with dark wizards were vanishing. He almost felt sad, realizing that perhaps even these permanent reminders of what happened weren't _that_ permanent.

Really, that wasn't what he should be focusing on, Harry thought. His attempts to send a Patronus to Ron or Bill had been unsuccessful; instead of streaking off, Prongs had simply wandered around Harry for a bit, before he'd vanished again into thin air. The intense use of magic hadn't even attracted Aurors or Obliviators from the Egyptian Ministry, though they evidently hadn't picked up on his Light charm either.

That fact coupled with the apparent complete lack of any modern technology had turned an uncomfortable twinge in the back of his head into a fearful suspicion, though it warred with his common sense. The only reason he didn't dismiss the crazy idea out of hand was that he knew full well what magic was capable of.

"Water?"

Harry blinked as his thoughts were interrupted. He nodded at the rather tiny woman who had addressed him; she wore elaborate necklaces and a long reddish sash across her shoulder that she'd partially tied around her middle. He hadn't caught her name, but from what he could deduce she was a sort of holy woman. She took care of the building behind him, the small shrine that seemed to serve as a miniature church for the entire community. Harry took the small cup she'd offered and savoured how clean it was, compared to the usually bitter beer.

Fresh water, it turned out, was a rarity around here. Beer and milk were the most common beverages of choice. After Harry found the village's water source, he couldn't blame them, really. Polluted and smelling vaguely sweet, Harry hadn't dared even get near the edge, for fear of catching a whole host of new diseases. (Granted, he'd probably deal better with those than any of the Muggles, but he'd rather not take chances.) The water didn't even seem clean enough to bathe in. Thankfully Harry could use cleaning spells, but he wondered idly how the others dealt with it. Would they ignore the poor quality of the water entirely? The fact that he hadn't yet spotted anything even vaguely like a toilet just made things even more puzzling.

The priestess said a few words to him, though he didn't recognize a single word. Unless he found someone who would take the time to teach him, he was never going to get it, since everyone spoke far too swiftly. Beyond a few snippets that could have been words he'd heard before, it might as well have been Gobbledygook. The woman smiled slightly as she gestured towards the shrine, and Harry followed, intrigued.

The shrine itself was fairly small and built out of sandstone covered with something like clay, and decorated with a few carvings above the doorway. There were small holes in the sides to let the light in, though most of the illumination came in through the same way he did; there was no door at all. The shrine was actually larger than he'd guessed from the outside. That said, more than four or five people would definitely be too many to comfortably walk around in here.

There were square indentations all across the wall, containing small sculptures of humans with animal heads on their shoulders. Though the bodies were beautifully sculpted and painted, the heads had little detail beyond the eyes. Each was surrounded by what Harry recognized as writing, reminding him of hieroglyphics like the ones he'd seen in the pyramid he'd visited. These statues were representations of gods, he realized, though he didn't remember their names.

"Heru," the priestess said, gesturing towards one of the figures with an arm that was carrying more bracelets than Harry thought he'd ever seen. Harry turned to her in surprise, since he could have sworn she never said his name before. She shook her head and pointed again. The figure she'd seemed so interested in was one of a tall man with a bird's head on his shoulders, staring ahead with a somber expression. He was wearing an odd headdress, painted white and red, and was holding a long staff in his hand; a bronze necklace circled the god's neck, and two bright green gemstones served as his eyes.

Harry didn't know much about the local religion; perhaps this was some local deity? Was he supposed to know a ritual? He didn't know how he'd even begin to ask about something like that. The elaborate symbols that crisscrossed the figure reminded him a little of the ancient runes that Hermione had been studying in Hogwarts, and he wondered if she'd be able to tell him their meaning, but that was of no help to him now.

Another thought occurred to him, and he glanced back at that bird-like head; a hawk perhaps, or a falcon? Harry paled as he made the connection. This statue was the one Ahaneith doubtlessly prayed to... and it had green eyes. If Harry knew anything about gods, it was that they had all sorts of magical abilities attributed to them. Perhaps the priestess hadn't been addressing him at all, but naming the statue? This had to be Heru, then.

"I'm sorry for nicking your name," Harry muttered, tapping the statue on the beak. He winced as the priestess gasped behind him. He hoped he hadn't made a horrible faux-pas, though the woman didn't say anything, and didn't even seem angry. Harry sighed in relief, his gaze wandering over the other figures.

Towards the middle of the shrine stood a fairly large representation of a goddess with a cat's head, or possibly a lion's. It was one of the largest in the entire shrine, in fact, and it was also the most lavishly decorated. At her feet stood half a dozen cats, and Harry wasn't entirely sure if they were sculptures or actual stuffed cadavers. One of them was uncomfortably familiar, a black Egyptian Mau, and Harry's hand strayed to the scratches on his arm. _"Who is this?"_ He asked, curious.

"Bast," the priestess said nevertheless, smiling as she nodded to the statue. She said a few more words, too, but Harry was busily trying to remember where he'd heard that word before. He was pretty sure Bill had mentioned a Cat Goddess like this, when they were setting out. She was the reason for the name of the nearby town, Bubastis, he was pretty sure. This had to be the same one, then. Perhaps if he went there, he could contact home.

"Bubastis_ – the city of Bast,_" Harry tried, turning to the woman. He had no idea what the word for city was, though, in her language. "Could you point me to that city?" He pointed around himself, and her eyes lit up. She nodded sagely after a moment, seemingly understanding him.

"Finally, I'm getting somewhere…"

* * *

**1 WEEK LATER******** – 3050 B.C.E.**

This didn't make any sense.

The streets of the town were busy, bustling even, with dozens of people dragging primitive carts around, or tending to their homes. Despite this, though, there was not a single person _anywhere_ that had even a pair of trousers, or any electronics whatsoever. The entire town, people and all, seemed like it had been plucked from the distant past into modern times. He recognized the general land-marks from the last time he'd briefly visited, not a bustling town.

The hypothesis that the entire town had been transported into the future had occurred to him, as had the possibility that he was being pranked. With magic, you never knew. He had to admit that there was a more parsimonious explanation though, that didn't include the world changing massively or involve an incredibly conspiracy. A much more worrying explanation. He'd gone _stark-raving mad._

Alternatively, and this was perhaps an even more insane possibility, he was the one that was stranded out of time rather than everyone else. That he'd ended up in what he could only conclude was Ancient Egypt, a culture that had been gone for thousands of years. A culture that he knew next to nothing about and which was about as different from his own than any could be. He knew time-travel was possible, but thousands of years? Bloody hell.

Harry sighed, hoping he could keep the panic away until he was somewhere that didn't have dozens of curious people staring at him. What the hell was he going to do? How did he get here? Khnurn's face came to mind, one of the last things he'd seen before he'd woken up at Ahaneith's. That cat, that damned cat.

"Heru, come, please," Ahaneith said, and Harry blinked, realizing he'd been standing in place for a while now, just staring at the village. He'd only just found out that this small village, only two or three times bigger than the one he'd left, indeed bore the name of Bast. Two villages named after the same goddess, located on identical land? This was the very village he'd seen in ruins, a few days ago. Harry wasn't sure if that would be a very useful count to keep, given that said day was now apparently in the distant future. Harry forced himself to walk on, despite the fact that he felt like he could collapse any moment.

Per-Bastet, as the village was called, was no more sophisticated than the poor village he'd first been in, much to Harry's chagrin. He'd managed to get himself into an era where the most advanced technology seemed to be a chimney. Fantastic.

Ahaneith led him through the town as he looked around for her brother. Nebit, it turned out, wasn't her husband. Nebit seemed mildly amused by the confusion and had volunteered to travel along, carrying several bags of supplies along, which he was probably going to trade away.

It was remarkably how long a relatively short journey could take if you were forced to go on foot, especially for a wizard used to apparating between places. Thankfully the long trip did allow Harry to pick up some basics of the Egyptian language from Ahaneith, even if she had an infuriating tendency to get bored with it and start speaking at such a pace that Harry had no way of keeping the words apart. Still, at least Harry knew some common words now, and he was recognizing some of them in people's speech, which was a good sign. He couldn't do anything if nobody could understand a word he was saying, after all.

The building that Ahaneith led him to was large, and decorated similarly to the shrine he'd already visited. There was a large statue besides the entrance which vaguely resembled a human shape with a cat's head, probably the goddess Bast. The entire statue was painted ink black, its two yellow cat's eyes staring down on him. Harry felt a chill down his back as he passed it.

"Go," Ahaneith said, nodding to the entrance. "Go, … I will wait. Go." Thankfully he understood enough of the woman's mutterings to give a quick bow and leave her there, while he stepped carefully through the doorway.

The temple was rather larger than the shrine he'd visited, with a large square central area and a rounded section on the far end, the entire wall covered in carvings. Beams of light shone down from high above against glittering murals, covered in something metallic, perhaps bronze. Four pillars kept the roof up. Two men were seated in the central area, and one of them shot up as he noticed Harry's approach, shouting something in a rather angry tone.

"Don't make such a fuss, please," Harry said in English, aware that his paltry skill at the local language was far too tenuous to hold a conversation. He'd rather they saw him as a foreigner rather than an imbecile. "I mean no harm," he added, raising his hands slightly. The angered man quickly walked up to him, though the fact that Harry had stopped at the entrance seemed to have calmed the man down a little.

He probably some kind of priest, if the staff he was holding was any indication, seeing as its tip was in the shape of a cat's head. The man had a rather long grey beard and beady eyes, and was wearing a robe that only came to his knees. Whatever he said next Harry didn't understand.

"_I don't know your language,"_ he explained tiredly; that was one of the few phrases he'd actually learned by now, and he found himself using it far too often for comfort. He wondered what he was trying to accomplish, here. He'd headed for this town since he knew that the ruins were a place he'd visited before, but he'd never figured that it would be inhabited. He was in the right place, but not the right time. "I was hoping… I hoped that I could find help here, but…" He sighed.

If he was right, then he had no home to return _to_. As far as he was aware, the Ministry of Magic was only a few hundreds of years old, and he wasn't sure if the United Kingdom even existed for much longer; certainly not when the Egyptians were around. Judging from all the bronze, he wasn't sure if there was anything around that he'd recognize.

"Follow," The priest said, seemingly intrigued by his use of English. The man quickly walked into a small hallway to the side of the temple, and Harry followed uncertainly. The path lead to a room containing the very first wooden chair and table he'd seen, though both were mostly a solid block rather than the more expertly crafted ones he was used to. On one of the walls in the same room someone had carved a majestic scene of this very temple, the sun appearing just over the horizon, and the priest walked right to it. At the pinnacle of the representation of the temple was something Harry immediately recognized. A Phoenix.

Harry smiled in appreciation, and the priest tapped the bottom of what was essentially a really elaborate painting. The man pointed to an array of animals – a scorpion, a snake, a long-beaked bird, a falcon, a cat, and more – and Harry realized they were representative of all the different gods.

"What do you want me to do?"

The man gestured again, and Harry sighed. Great, he was getting himself involved in vague religious rituals without even knowing what they were about. Did he have to choose one, or something? Finally, as he was getting about ready to just pick one at random and be done with it, the man chuckled softly, and nodded to himself. He turned away from the mural and smiled. Harry didn't know what to make of that. Had it been a test of some sort? Had he passed?

"Anedjib, of Bast," the man said. "You?"

Apparently, yes, he had passed. He pointed at himself. "Harry Potter."

Anedjib nodded regally, and Harry wondered whether or not the man even had the concept of a last name; had that been in use in this time? He really didn't know much about history, did he? "Stay, Heru Pota? Stay in Per-Bastet?"

Well, he'd actually understood some of that. "I suppose, for now, until I figure some things out," he said, and nodded for emphasis. Harry didn't know exactly what he'd agreed to, but he was pretty sure these people meant him no harm. He could spend a little time here, while he tried to figure out not so much where he was – but _when._

* * *

**3 WEEKS LATER******** – 3050 B.C.E.**

"Come, Heru," High-Priest Anedjib said, smiling brightly. "There is work!"

Harry groaned, wiping the hair from his face. It had been less than a week after he'd decided to stick around Per-Bastet for a while that he'd found himself dragging supplies around. Compared to many of the people here he was quite a respectable height, and that helped tremendously in moving some of the more unwieldy items that needed delivering.

Keeping busy physically was a great way to keep his mind off the whole issue of how the hell he was getting home. Harry spent his evenings trying to figure out if he had any way to find other wizards or witches that didn't involve informing every Muggle that magic existed.

Harry had to admit it, the past few weeks had convinced him that his original worry was correct; he wasn't in some obscure part of Egypt where crazy people lived. He'd managed to get back here, somehow. He'd been stranded back in ancient times, courtesy of a nasty black cat and an odd man. It sounded crazy even to himself, and he hadn't shared that particular nugget with anyone.

Anedjib was actually quite a gracious host. After an initial few days in which Harry was seen as an interloper by absolutely everyone, especially the High-Priest's assistant, he'd gone to being generally ignored, since at least he was making himself useful. Ahaneith and Nebit remained in the village and seemed quite excited about that fact. They'd been given temporary housing by the temple, and it was, though crude, infinitely better than the ratty tents they were used to.

Today a new statue of Bast was being delivered, and Harry was there to help out at the High-Priest's request. At least a dozen men were dragging the huge new addition to the temple's courtyard along to its final resting place on a sort of sled with ropes attached.

"Heru!"

Harry turned with a sigh. Even after weeks of trying to correct people, nobody would stop calling him that; either they were just incapable of saying 'Harry', which he thought unlikely, or they'd decided that clearly Heru was a far better name than silly old Harry. (An uncomfortable third option had occurred to him. That 'Harry' meant something so incredibly offensive here that nobody had dared tell him about it.)

Ahaneith looking around, frowning. "Where is Nebit?"

"_I don't know,"_ Harry replied haltingly, squinting against the sun. _"With the statue, perhaps?"_

As he said that, the sled came into view. Harry had opined that they really should have used a carriage with wheels, the last time he'd seen people dragging things along, but from the confused stares he'd gotten even after trying to illustrate it by drawing it in the sand, it seemed it was unknown to them. They didn't know about the bloody wheel_._ He'd considered conjuring a small cart and demonstrating, but he wasn't sure if he should. He had a feeling that introducing technologies that didn't exist yet would make a right mess of things.

The statue was shoved in place with speed born from experience. Half dozen men dragged it slowly upright, stepping forward. The ropes could really only do so much, though, and Harry found himself trying to find surer footing in the sand just as the statue reached its tipping point. The moment it seemed to stabilize there was an odd noise, almost like stone rubbing against stone, a cracking noise.

Harry only had a few moments to react, the fact that dozens of people were right there crossing his mind for a split second. Before he could fully think it through, Harry had whipped out his wand and aimed it at the new statue. The entire head tumbled off the figure's shoulders and people barely had time to scream before Harry's voice cut through the chatter.

"_Arresto Momentum!"_

The head stopped in mid-air, remaining suspended a mere foot-and-a-half above the men who had just shoved the statue into place. The cat's face stared down on them with its painted eyes, a little dust descending from the neck. It had been neatly severed from the rest of the body, apparently broken during transport, and it had taken the motion of the righting to shake it loose. Slowly the men turned away from the cat's head, their gazes finding the one who's saved them. Nebit was among them, and his eyes lit up when they spotted what had happened.

Harry stared at his wand, at the floating head, and groaned softly. He hadn't even thought ahead. Yes, he'd just saved a bunch of people and he wouldn't take that back, but he'd also effectively ruined any chance of a low profile. Forget Ahaneith and Nebit, he'd just done magic in front of an entire town. Bloody hell.

"God-send!" High-Priest Anedjib crowed, and Harry realized that everyone was staring at him, several falling to their knees. Harry looked again at the floating head and finally let it descend to the ground, to more amazed gasps from the Muggles.

"Bloody hell, if that doesn't send a message to every wizard in a hundred miles, I don't know what would," Harry muttered after a while. "I hope they don't begin a cult..."

* * *

**2 WEEKS LATER **** – 3050 B.C.E.**  


Walking into the temple of Bast, Harry ignored the handful of people that bowed as he passed on his way to the back of the temple. He'd tried greeting them all back in the beginning, but that had just made them uncomfortable - apparently that wasn't what you were supposed to do - and his declarations that he didn't deserve praise were met with incredulous looks. Harry supposed he should be glad that there weren't any reporters to buzz around. He stopped before the little shrine to Bast and wondered why everything always went crazy on him.

Although the common people had gotten quite excited about having a miracle-worker in their midst and Harry had found himself the subject of much speculation, he could bear it. Thankfully they hadn't started a religion or cult, so far, though some were rather more obsessed with knowing what he got up to than seemed strictly healthy.

Anedjib was perhaps the most affected by this whole affair. Finding out that Harry could actually do magic had turned him from an ally into a bit of a fanatic, regularly conversing with him on a number of topics, and jotting down many notes on a crude sort of paper, even if the broken Egyptian that Harry used was rather inelegant.

Harry had found over the last few weeks that being a wizard in a Muggle town could be quite interesting. He'd made sure that all the water sources were clean, for one, which would help tremendously in keeping people healthy. He'd apparated back to the little village he'd arrived at and cleaned up their well, though he left it to them to discover that; one town was quite enough, right now. There was also a sudden surplus in food; use of the Engorgement charm and _Geminio_ had been key for that. Though Anedjib knew about his activities, Harry had chosen to largely avoid showing off for the rest of the village, to avoid getting even more attention. He didn't hide his magic, seeing as everyone already knew, but he knew full well that Muggles demanding that Wizards solve their problems was one of the reasons the Statue of Secrecy had even been invented.

Thankfully, most of the Muggles seemed to consider his magic a sign of the gods, after the High-Priest had declared as much, and were hesitant in provoking him. They only requested help on rare occasions, almost always related to repairing broken sculptures that represented the various gods, after he'd connected the fallen head of the Bast statue to its body again.

There was one disturbing thing about that event, that he was still wondering about, weeks later. The head- it had been severed neatly... too neatly. It was certainly not an accidental incident, which had him suspecting that one of the few who knew about his abilities had forced him out into the open, but the reactions had been rather genuine. Furthermore, the head couldn't have been quite so loose when it was first being righted, or it'd have lost its head far sooner. That left one possibility that Harry saw as plausible... there had been another wizard present, or a witch. Could they have anything to do with him getting to this time? Was it a coincidence?

He'd visited the spot that Ahaneith claimed he'd appeared in, and beyond a few streaks of blood from his wounds, there was nothing there.. Not the slightest thing was present to suggest anything even mildly magical happening. Harry couldn't make any sense out of the strange cat or Khnurn's role in all of this either. Had they done this, gotten him thrown back in time, somehow? Were they back here, too? Beyond the fact that the local deity of choice was also into cats, he'd really found nothing.

"You are thinking?"

Harry smiled slightly, turning away from Bast's statue to Nebit. _"Always."_

Nebit shrugged, staring at the small statue of Bast for a moment. "Ahaneith seeks you."

"_I know, I know."_ Harry shook his head. Ahaneith had been a bit odd, lately, and Harry wasn't sure what to do about it. With his dodgy control of the Egyptian language, he had a hard enough time figuring out what was wrong, let alone help.

"You shouldn't leave her alone," Nebit answered shortly, looking a little anxious. "You must understand. She is a bit … distressed."

Harry frowned. He'd been a bit busy trying to juggle his duties to help the temple, to learn a new language, and to find a way home to really spend a lot of time with her, even if he knew what he could say to her. _"What is wrong?"_

"She is twenty years old," Nebit said, frowning. "She's not married. That's not good. She doesn't like that you avoid her either."

Great. He knew that marriage had been odd, back in the days, with polygamy and the like, but Harry hadn't really remembered it hadn't really been about love for most of history. Harry thought of Ginny, and wondered if they'd get married, someday. Maybe in a few years. If he got back, Harry added. No, when. When he got back. _"I'll speak to her," _Harry assured Nebit.

"Thank you," he responded, glancing at the statue behind Harry and bowing deeply.

Harry nodded, frowning. Ahaneith had been in here before, but she'd never stayed long, preferring to busy herself in town; a few weeks after she arrived she'd set up a small barter shop, selling trinkets and home-made jewellery. Harry had pitched in by giving her a sizable collection of neatly cut gemstones. Creating them was easy enough with a few carefully chosen spells and the right kind of materials, and thus far nobody had asked where he'd gotten them from, probably attributing it to his miracles. They'd actually be right, too.

Staying in Per-Bastet had been a grudging decision early on, but he had to admit he liked the town. Though it was as disease-ridden and unsanitary as he could have expected, the people were remarkably friendly and open, and tolerant of his poor grasp of their language. Harry had briefly wondered if he was tying time in a knot by mixing up cause and effect like this, but thus far everything seemed fine. If he remembered how the time-turner worked right, whatever he did couldn't noticeably change the world as he remembered it.

He wasn't sure if that was a depressing thought or not.

* * *

He found Ahaneith not far from the temple, staring into the sky as she distractedly sipped at a cup of something that Harry figured could probably be used to clean ovens.

"Heru," she greeted as he approached, a fake smile on her face. "Good to see you."

Harry shrugged. "_I heard you were in trouble," _he said, glad that he knew enough of the basics to at least hold a simple conversation. He'd never considered how difficult learning a language was, even with a tutor. Of course, it didn't help when the topics were as complex as this.

She frowned. "Trouble? No..." She paused, groaning. "Nebit. What did he say?"

"_Marriage problems?"_ Harry tried, frowning. _"You are... young? Is that the word?"_

Ahaneith's laughed suddenly, shaking her head in mirth. "That... it was not right. Oh, Heru..." She smiled, tapping on the stone bench beside her. "Sit."

Harry collapsed next to her, glancing at her curiously.

"My marriage problems, as you say... I will survive," she said, tapping him on the shoulder. "Living in Per-Bastet is much better. Water, food, a house. I have my shop - I will survive."

"_You always have Nebit and me,"_ Harry pointed out. Ahaneith smiled radiantly at that, nodding.

"God-send," she said, winking slyly. Harry shook his head in embarrassment as she swallowed what remained of her beverage. "In time, I will marry. Perhaps to you?"

Harry didn't respond to that, staring off into the distance. He'd been thinking of getting married only weeks ago, but not to her. Ginny. He was supposed to get married after a last men-only vacation filled with ancient ruins and strong brews, that Bill insisted he should have before getting forever chained to a woman. (Those were his exact words.) Was that ever going to happen, now? If he went back, would he just go on where he left off?

He hoped so.

* * *

**1 YEAR LATER**** – 3049 B.C.E.**

He really shouldn't kid himself, Harry realized. He was stuck here.

He gazed at the sky sadly, trying to ignore the painful feeling of loss that he felt whenever he thought of home. For months he'd kept going by telling himself that he was going to find a way back, or that he was going to unmask the world as some overly elaborate trick or illusion. Unfortunately, things remained as they were, and the people around him were very much real. More and more he'd found himself on the temple's roof, out of sight from almost everyone, staring into the distance and wondering what to do.

He'd been here for more than a year now, and he hadn't been a lot further than the immediate surroundings of Per-Bastet in that time. The town had certainly become a lot more impressive during that period. More than thirty new homes had been added, a frankly staggering number compared to the usual increases if Anedjib was to be believed, and for once it was actual immigrants, rather than just locals . Really the town's growth was mostly because Harry had been supplying it with materials that he either transfigured or duplicated, though he was careful to do so out of the public eye, before everyone wanted their stuff multiplied. The reason that so many new houses were needed was simple. Word had gotten out.

The wells of Per-Bastet were the cleanest within fifty miles and had become almost legendary because of that. The 'miracle' was quickly attributed to the blessing of the goddess Bast herself by travellers and priests alike, much to Harry's relief, though he was pretty sure some suspected his involvement. That the village had plenty of food also got around to neighbouring villages, not to mention the rather spontaneous decrease in sickness among the populace (which, honestly, was mostly due to the clean water.) Blessed, people called Per-Bastet. Honestly Harry couldn't really object; having a magic-user in your midst with twenty-first century knowledge and a penchant for helping people probably did count as a miracle to anyone here.

Harry hadn't just made the situation better here, though. He'd spent six months tracking down wizards or witches in the surrounding areas, up to nearby cities and even in a few of them, and he'd utterly failed. He'd made sure to help out any village he came across, at least a little, so at the end of the day he felt like he'd accomplished something.

There was one thing he'd found in his search that had lifted his heart, though. Quite a distance west from town he'd come across a genuine wild Phoenix, its song of joy echoing between the hills. He'd stood there, enraptured, for what had to be half an hour, just listening. Finally, as the creature landed near him, he'd approached. It looked identical to Fawkes, though Harry had no idea if that was just a trait of the species; he'd only ever seen one of them before.

Then, a remarkable thought had occurred to him. Fawkes had to have come from _somewhere. _How old did Phoenixes get? Were they immortal as their legend suggested? Was this one, perhaps...? He shook his head, and smiled.

The bird had almost seemed to chuckle before vanishing. Harry had thought about that moment for a while. Perhaps it had been Fawkes. Perhaps he'd seen the future companion of Albus Dumbledore, flying freely over his ancestral grounds, millennia before the Headmaster would even be born. It was a nice thought.

That led him to think about of Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Luna, and all the others he'd left behind to carry on without him. He missed them, he missed his life. For a moment he utterly hated Khnurn and his vile cat. He had been robbed. His entire life had been taken away and replaced with _this_. Dragging big stones around and duplicating food for a society that didn't even know that washing your hands was a good thing.

What was he going to _do_?

* * *

**Author's Note: **Last of the 'Cats' chapters next time, with Cat's Nine Lives. Though the story remains in Egypt, it moves beyond the immediate vicinity of Per-Bastet, towards Heliopolis and eventually the Pharaoh. If you've already figured out what's going on, feel free to drop me a line. :)

Next chapter includes '_3 Years later_' and '_7 Years Later_' and so forth, so we are getting some progress in this beyond the first few weeks, which is why I included the 1 Year Later bit. (Otherwise it looks like this will take for-freaking-ever.)

I will be including the absolute year count as well from the coming chapter onwards.


	3. Tjenu

**Chapter 3 – Tjenu**

**THREE WEEKS LATER – 3049 B.C.E.**

"It is truly a blessing to have one such as you in our village, Heru," Anedjib said, sitting down next to Harry with a contented sigh. "Per-Bastet has never seen a time of prosperity and health as this. I do not believe it is a coincidence that it started with your arrival."

Harry smiled, enjoying the breeze. Really, he should have said something about Anedjib's beliefs that he brought blessings from the gods, but after the first few months he'd given up on that as a wasted effort. Every time he'd attempted to deny the claims, the man seemed spurred on to think of more elaborate stories, and he suspected Anedjib was simply having too much fun with it to stop. Whether he truly believed any of it or not, at the very least he always maintained his importance before the other priests, which allowed him quite a bit of freedom.

For a priest, Harry thought, Anedjib was a surprisingly jovial and worldly person, and not beyond poking a little fun at things. He supposed that his limited exposure to church back in his own day was coloured by the Dursleys' reluctance to have him along at all, and only ever at the holidays, when his absence would be more peculiar than his presence. The fact that the religions of the modern day were rather fond of decrying magic as being from the devil didn't help much, either. He wiped at his eyes in annoyance; it was still unusual to live with poor eyesight, ever since he'd lost his glasses. His conjuration attempts for a proper pair of glasses had been rather unsuccessful, and though he would probably get it right eventually, he had never been quite as gifted with the field as his father was said to have been.

"Heru... I have asked this before, I know, but do you not believe you are limiting your potential by remaining here?" the man asked, raising an eyebrow. "Per-Bastet flourishes by your presence, but it is but a small township, even now. Such a humble temple as ours should not be home to one such as yourself, one who has the favour of the gods beyond anyone else."

"What would I do, if I left?" Harry asked tiredly. "Everyone I know is right here. I have nowhere to go."

"You should consider travelling to the capital! Tales of your prowess have spread across the outlying villages, and some say you are the incarnation of the god Heru himself, sent among us to guide the future of our people. The unification is still so recent that many believe that your presence shows Heru was victorious over Set, and that the South has ultimately proven victorious over North. It is a matter of time before the nobility comes to search you out, or the pharaoh himself. Destiny will find you, regardless of what you choose. It may not be kind if you ignore its call."

"You've told me this a hundred times," Harry muttered, glowering. "I can't just walk up the palace and demand to see the leader of the country, that's absurd. Claiming to be a god, that's even worse. Besides, I can't just leave this village, not with leaving behind the others..."

Anedjib shrugged. "I am a priest of Bast, not her interpreter. I do not know what she intends with you. I feel that your role is not here, though."

Harry sighed, staring up into the sky. He was tempted to take Anedjib's suggestion and find a way to the capital, a place called Tjenu that was many miles upstream. Staying here in Per-Bastet was a possibility, really, but he knew that he'd get nothing done and he wouldn't find any new leads for getting back home. He'd spent more than a year here, and he had nothing. If he could go back, he'd need to find the way elsewhere. If he couldn't - well, he had the ability to make a difference with his magic and he had knowledge of many things that Ancient Egypt had not even thought of. Perhaps, in time, he could find a viable way to live here, without missing home. Thankfully his knowledge of the local language was getting fairly good, which would speed things up. In fact, he'd gotten to understand the language a lot quicker than he'd anticipated. He supposed the fact that nobody even remotely spoke his language had made the need very great; he still missed words on occasion, but they were rare and far between. Mostly those words he paused on were Anedjib's, who had studied a fair bit and knew many technical terms.

A counterpoint to leaving was that the only people he knew were here. They were the only people who knew him, or with whom he was willing to speak about uncomfortable topics. Ahaneith and Nebit were fairly well-off as far as commoners went, but Harry knew that it was unlikely that they rise above that level in this culture. Egypt had a class system of sorts, in which the vast labour force was always lower in status than the intelligentsia, the scribes and leaders. Above them all, of course, was the nobility, and the pharaoh himself.

Ancient Egypt – or just Egypt, he supposed – was a different culture than the bits and pieces he remembered from Bill's books or the vague generalities he'd heard from Hermione in the weeks before he left England. For one, as far as he was aware there were no pyramids, or sphinxes, or anything massive like that, and as far as he knew, not even their idea had occured to people. When _did _the first of those get built, anyway?

"Anedjib..." Harry frowned. "The pharaoh, what do you know about him?" Technically, Harry had figured out, the term 'pharaoh' wasn't used, it was just the word that instantly jumped to his mind whenever Egyptian royalty came up. Still, the vague term they actually used amounted to the same thing, especially since the few images of these 'rulers' that the village had all showed a rather distinctive headdress that he instantly recognized; large and bulky. A _'khat'_, as the locals called it.

The priest smiled victoriously at Harry's question, probably assuming his advice was finally being taken seriously. "The current pharaoh is Djer, son of Aha, who has only been in his new role for mere months. I have not seen him personally, nor know of his disposition, but I can speculate... It is expected that he will fulfil his role like his father before him, who enjoyed a long reign, and to continue to reign in the god Heru's place." The man shrugged. "Aha was a wise ruler, and I have heard no ill words about his progeny. He had great faith in the gods, and he will surely have instilled an attention to their worship in his heir. That is all I can tell you."

"There is a new face in the royal halls, then." Harry shrugged. "Perhaps it would be a good time to leave. If I'm going to meet anyone like that, I'd rather it be someone that isn't set in his ways. I'll speak to the others about it, first, though."

"Hmmm, the lady Ahaneith and her sibling," Anedjib agreed. "You shouldn't remain here simply for their benefit, Heru. I am certain they would understand."

"It's not that easy, and you know it," Harry retorted tiredly. "You know that I help them with their little shop; I deliver the majority of the precious materials that they sell, and these days I even help with moulding the metals. If I leave, the two of them will lose their livelihood, and I know that even with your considerable power, the other priests would readily turn them away."

"So pessimistic," the priest muttered. "This village would not be so callous as to turn away those who brought splendour. The villagers are not that petty."

"And what happens when the water turns stale, once more? When grain refuses to flourish under the harsh sun and the harvest is lost? When disease returns to the village and claims its first victims?" Harry shook his head. "Just as they credit me now, they will blame me then. When I am gone, there is only one place they can aim their anger."

"You would take away the boons of this village?" Anedjib asked, curious rather than angry. "Surely the gods are not so easily moved?"

"You still don't understand, old man," Harry murmured. "This 'blessing' you see is not the gods intervening just because I am here. I'm the reason you have clean water and food, that's true, but that's because I'm maintaining those personally. When I leave, so does everything else that I brought after only a short while. I _am _the blessing."

Harry thought about the issues that his particular set of magical skills posed. The charms he knew would stick around for months, some perhaps for years, but Harry hardly had the expertise to place the kind of permanent enchantment that Dumbledore had probably been capable of. He was fresh out of Hogwarts, and that had hardly been a calm learning environment, so he was rowing with the oars he had. It was a bit of luck that he'd spent a year camping, so he knew these nifty spells for cleaning up wells and keeping food fresh, or even duplicating it. Still, they were meant for camping, not to supply an entire village for an extended period. They would not continue their function for very long.

Anedjib didn't seem to notice Harry's pensive mood, merely looking serenely on. "The gods acts outside of our sight as well as in it. The gifts you've shown are doubtlessly their doing. Even if you disagree with their ideas or movements. If it is Per-Bastet's fate to return to squalor, then at least we may remember the days that the blessed of Heru walked in our midst, and the wonders that he brought. Perhaps it is within your power to see to our safety from the capital. The gods will lead you down the path you _should _follow, rather than the one you or I might find pleasant"

"The gods lead me down the path I should, rather than the one I would like?" Harry smiled slightly. "I had a teacher once, that said something very similar. 'We must all face the choice between what is right and what is easy,' he argued." He stared up at the clouds and sighed. "There is one thing I can tell you, at least, that might lighten your heart. I don't know the specifics, but I do know this. In time, Per-Bastet will become a mighty city with great white pillars, tall spires, and the greatest temple to Bast that Egypt ever saw." He smiled as he turned. "One day, this village turned city will house the pharaohs themselves."

Anedjib stared, wide-eyed. Harry smirked as the man finally realized he was gaping and abruptly closed his mouth. "Truly?"

"I swear," Harry assured him. He had no clue exactly when that would be - probably centuries in the future - but he had a sneaking suspicion that the recent expansion of the village and the arrival of craftsmen and others into the village had turned it into a little more than just another village. In a few years, it would be a respectable town. Who knew,perhaps the great city of Bubastis of which he'd seen the ruins himself had been seeded into existence by his own interference. Blessed by Bast, as they said, the small town had become a little more. A chill ran down his back as he realized what he could do here, in the past, what power he really had. He didn't know if he could change the future, but he sure as hell was going to try and make things better. He knew well enough that history was plagued with injustice.

Harry thought about what he was doing. He'd been using his magic left and right since the whole town had found out, but the local myths and legends ran deep, and many saw him and his wand as channels of divine will. Most believed that it was Per-Bastet's hospitality to the stranger with the strange language that had led to this golden age, as if it had been a test that they had passed. If he left, though… would they believe that their blessing had passed, and go on with their lives, or would they do as he expected, and lash out? Would Per-Bastet sink back into obscurity?

"I thank you for your prophetic words," Anedjib said, at last, bowing deeply. "I have never known you to surround yourself with lies, so I will keep your words as a good sign of things to come. It would indeed be a great loss if you left." He looked up and smiled. "Keeping one such as you here seems like a selfish act, though. The name of Heru has great meaning among the nobility. They would welcome you with open arms. The future should not be told to me, but to the pharaoh, so that our nation may become even more prosperous."

"I told it to you because you're a friend, Anedjib. I am not an oracle, I don't claim to predict future events. I simply have some... advantages." Harry glanced at the hut that had been his home for the past months. It wasn't much, but he was used to a one-bedroom household anyway. The idea of leaving it behind for a city he'd never even heard of didn't sit well with him. He'd essentially be giving up on his life all over again, and this time voluntarily. The city was quite a distance away, so apparating back and forth would not be very practical, and he had little to no idea how to make a proper Portkey. At least he could keep the water fresh if he came back here occasionally, but the rest... he would have to say goodbye to this place, as even in the best of cases, he would only be an occasional visitor. He turned to Anedjib. "I will make my decision before the spring season arrives."

"That is all that I can ask." The man bowed slightly. "I will pray that you will receive guidance."

* * *

**FOUR MONTHS LATER – 3049 B.C.E.**

"I'm leaving."

Nebit raised an eyebrow, and then nodded sharply, going back to eating his chunk of bread. Ahaneith didn't seem to have even heard him, though her eyes jumped to him, and after a few silent moments, she broke the silence.

"We've known you were thinking of moving away," she began. Harry frowned at that. "Priest Anedjib asked us to speak to you about your plans, but we thought it would be best to simply let you decide on your own."

"It's the least we could do, after the role you played in getting us here," Nebit added gruffly. "This life would have been beyond us, without you. I know you do not see it as a burden, but I do appreciate that you chose to speak up for us, rather than to send us back. We merely offered you a bed to recover, after all."

"You really should stop thinking of me as a higher being," Harry muttered tiredly. "You've seen me battered and bruised, I'm just a person. I get enough nonsense from Anedjib, thank you."

Nebit snorted. "When a bird says that you should stop watching its wings, since it is simply a lizard, what do you say? Perhaps it is a humble bird, or a crazy bird, but it is still what it is. You are a bird among lizards, willing to talk away your wings, just so they do not fear you. Do not worry; we are not so easily frightened."

Harry sighed. "A bird, eh?"

"I know about that, yes. I have seen you," Nebit said, smirking, glancing at his sister. "I followed you out into the wastes, where you go to think, to commune."

"You followed me?" Harry sputtered. "Oh, don't tell me…"

"I saw you speak to the Bennu, yes. You spoke to the manifestation of the morning sun itself, and it did not remove itself from your presence, as it does with all common men. Instead the Bennu answered with its own call." Nebit smiled. "Then I knew for certain that you were not the lizard that you so vehemently claim to be, not a common man. The sun acknowledges you as an equal, and his creatures with him."

Harry sighed, shaking his head. He'd gone to find the Phoenixes a few times, and clearly he hadn't paid attention at least once; he used the long hikes as a time to think, a time away from all the people, and he supposed he shouldn't have expected privacy. It was true what Nebit said, that the beautiful birds would shy away from Muggles, flashing away in an instant. When it came to him, though, it seemed that the Phoenixes were interested. It was perhaps an explanation why there were far more Phoenix-sightings by wizards in his own time, rather than by Muggles. The birds sensed magic.

"You should not try to find them on your own," Harry warned. Ahaneith seemed amused by the whole conversation. She'd already known about this, then. "This 'Bennu' is a creature that prefers solitude, and it will not allow most people to approach. I'm – different."

Nebit smiled. "I'm aware of that." He shook his head, smiling. "Before you leave, you should feast with us a last time. I have some great drinks for a long evening, so that when you leave, you will have a good memory of Per-Bastet's hospitality."

Ahaneith smiled. "It's good to see that you're moving on in your journey, Heru. It is an honour to be part of it."

Harry rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment. "You're welcome, I guess. I'd like to think that I won't leave everything here behind, though." Distractedly he touched the falcon necklace he wore around his neck. It was one of Ahaneith's creations, and a rather beautiful one: fashioned from the metal and gems that he'd provided, she'd shaped it into the form of a falcon, with a little help from magic. Harry had put the best charms he could on it, including the strongest protective one that he knew. He'd done the same for the smaller and simpler necklaces that Ahaneith and Nebit wore.

Ahaneith smiled enigmatically as she noticed the movement. "If you keep wearing _that_, I will keep mine, and we will both know the other is safe."

"Let's hope so."

* * *

"This is excellent beer," Harry slurred. He was on his sixth or seventh cup, he thought, and the buzz of the alcoholic beverage was pleasantly warm. His thoughts kept wandering to irrelevant things, and for the first time in quite a while he relaxed. "A fine brew."

"I have no idea what you just said, but I probably agree," Nebit answered, smiling broadly. "I imported this from Heliopolis, you know. It's excellent stuff, expensive too. I figured this was as good an occasion as any to drink it, though. Beer fit for a nobleman in commoner's clothing."

Harry nodded slowly, observing distractedly that everything was sloshing back and forth ever so slightly whenever he moved. He'd never actually drunk this much before, he was pretty sure, and though he knew a spell that would sober him up, its incantation was getting away from him right now. Fire whiskey was a bit too spicy to forget what you were drinking, and he'd never really had the time to try the Muggle stuff, so he was mildly interested in his erratic thoughts. He looked down at the table and was unsure whether or not it had been as few drinks as he'd counted; his cup was full again, and he was certain he hadn't refilled it.

"You're distracted, Heru." Nebit raised an eyebrow. "Something wrong?"

"No, no…" Harry shook his head. "Just thinking about what I'm leaving behind. You, Ahaneith, the home I built, even the temple... I'll miss you all." He frowned as he thought about his last 'home'. Grimmauld Place had barely been any more hospitable than Little Whinging, and he'd certainly not known as many people as he did here.

"And we will miss you," Nebit agreed. "Nevertheless, I respect your decision. It took you many months to make it, and you are the type to think deeply. I am certain that you made the right choice in the end."

"Not the easy one, that's for sure," Harry muttered, nodding. "I think I'll get some fresh air. I feel like I could fall asleep if I don't." Harry got to his feet and headed outside; the cool evening air did wonders for his clariety of mind, which he didn't mind. He probably needed more than the average person to get drunk anyway, considering the fact that firewhiskey and similar brews had a _lot_ more alcohol in them, and he'd had quite a few more of those before. The village of Per-Bastet was silent and dark, and he was sure most of the inhabitants slept. He wondered how long it would take them to realize that he'd left.

"So, you finally had enough?"

Harry turned to find Ahaneith leaning against the wall, smiling. "If I'd known you were going to drink as much as my brother, I might've reconsidered this whole idea. It's one thing to celebrate what you've done here; it's another to get piss-drunk. You look _terrible_."

"Terribly gorgeous, you mean," Harry said, and then gaped in consternation. "I really did have too much…"

Ahaneith laughed softly. "My brother gets the same way, you know, all silliness or melancholia. I bet he's drinking your portion now, so he'll probably be worse than you, even. I bet he'll be snoring in his own drink by the night's end."

"Eh, he'll survive." Harry sighed, and tried to shoo away the fogginess that was crawling up to him. "It's the last night that I'm here. I think getting drunk was pretty much the general idea."

"I suppose…" Ahaneith frowned, staring down at her hands. "This might be an odd time to ask, but with you leaving, I had to know. You once asked me about getting married, and I have long wanted to ask about your own family, but whenever I do…" She hesitated as Harry looked away. "That's what I mean. You look so pained… Are you married yourself?"

"She's far, far away," Harry admitted, rubbing his forehead. "We are - were promised to each other, I guess." He shook his head and instantly regretted it, as everything spun around. He realized that his marriage to Ginny looked further away than ever. He hadn't seen her for a year, and the two years before they'd been involved in so many awful things that they'd barely had time to see each other, courtesy of Voldemort. He didn't know if he could just get back into things when he returned home – if he returned home. They'd been forced apart, and he didn't know if what they had could survive it.

"You seem so very sad…" Ahaneith leaned forward. "Is she…?"

"We were going to get married… I don't think it'll happen, now. She's beyond my reach." He sighed. "I miss everyone, you know. I miss my old life. This… isn't where I'm supposed to be. I don't think so."

"The gods have a reason for many things," Ahaneith countered. "Your arrival here, for example. You have helped many people already, and you will leave for even greater things in the morning. Sometimes, we sacrifice the things we love, for some greater purpose," Ahaneith concluded sadly. "I'm very sorry, Heru. I... I can understand, I believe."

Harry turned to her, frowning.

Ahaneith sighed. "It has to do with the reason I am not married." She bit her lower lip. "Years ago, when I was only sixteen, I was going to get married to the son of a local farmer. The marriage was planned, and I knew him well." She hesitated. "It was the week before the ceremony that I was with him, helping to build a new house we would live in. He was transporting stones and mud bricks. He wished to show me his strength, and stacked many stones upon his vehicle. The pile was too high so that it collapsed after cresting a hill, and one of the stones struck him in the side of the head."

Harry winced.

"He survived that," Ahaneith assured him quickly. "The wound to his temple made him erratic and angry, and he became very violent. I refused to marry him until he had returned to his senses, but the priest believed it was something other than the wound." She scowled. "He declared that it was the marriage that was cursed, and the gods forbade it. My house was burned and my possession ruined by the villagers who believed that a curse by Set had been responsible. I fled. My future husband… he was whipped and beaten, then killed by the priest himself."

"That's awful," Harry said, grimacing. "I'm very sorry..."

"And I am sorry for you," Ahaneith replied, nodding. "I found my brother, working as a bricklayer in one of the smaller villages. He'd been sent from home many years before, and I hadn't seen him since. He has cared for me since. I've never returned to my home, there is nobody left I would care to meet. For a long time, I believe that we would die out in the poorest of villages." She smiled slightly. "Then, a man fell out of the sky, wounded from head to toe. I could not watch a second time as someone died in front of me. I have not regretted my decision. Now… it seems like I have a future once more, thanks to you."

Harry nodded slightly. "I … suppose you understand." He sighed deeply.

Ahaneith nodded. "You will always have a roof here. You know that, at least."

Harry sighed deeply. "I do… and I appreciate what you all did for – " He was cut off quite suddenly when Ahaneith leaned in and quite forthrightly embraced him tightly. It took him a few moments to realize what he was doing, and then an even longer period of deciding whether or not he should stop. Harry looked at her with wide eyes. "What was _that _for?"

"Return to Per-Bastet soon, Heru of the gods," Ahaneith said simply, tapping him on the head. She winked and quickly walked away, hips swaying.

Harry just stared for a few moments, trying to figure out how things went from Ginny to dead husbands to _that_. "Bloody hell," he said to himself, realizing what that had just been.

People didn't kiss here - they didn't even have the concept, it seemed. Instead they nuzzled or embraced - oh bugger. He stared after Ahaneith and shook his head. The women really _did _take the initiative here, didn't they?

* * *

**TWO MONTHS LATER – 3048 B.C.E.**

Harry's trek to the capital was a lot longer than he'd originally anticipated. He really would have liked to use a broom to cover the distance, but with limitations as they were he'd ultimately taken to just going by foot; unlike most, he wouldn't have a problem staying fed and watered along the way. Travelling to the Nile was the easy part (It was essentially the centre of the Egyptian civilization) but then he'd begun the long, long way south. The distance was in the hundreds of miles, and he'd taken his time, spending a day or two in a few villages, trying to remember the places well so he could apparate back. He kept away from the main traffic along the river itself, since he heard many a worrying tale about bandits and thieves stalking those roads, and they'd probably consider a lonely traveller a suitable target.

The first thing he saw of the capital was the walls. They were tall and built out of many layers of bricks, covered at least on the outside with some kind of ornamentations, though they were rather rough. The walls stretched into the distance, and only a single wide opening was there, right along the road; though it might've been able to be closed in the past, right now it seemed like the wall was more of an edge marker for the city than an actual defensive construct.

The city was bustling, and Harry realized quite suddenly just how tiny Per-Bastet was, compared to this place. Though the place would become bigger in the future, he was sure (someone had to build the monuments that'd been dug up in the future), it was but a shadow of something like _this._ Hundreds of people were about, music resounded from the distance, and there was a strong scent of incense and other spices in the air. He'd barely passed the city walls, without a soldier even glancing at him, before he discovered why this was the capital. Stretching out before him was a huge number of buildings that vanished over the hills, including massive temples that were many times the size of Per-Bastet.

"It is quite the sight, isn't it?"

Harry glanced aside to find one of the soldiers nodding at him. Unlike most people, he actually carried a weapon, some type of staff, and wore something like a sash; most of the men went bare-chested. He'd fashioned a small tunic for himself after he'd torn his shirt, and it served well enough; he got some odd looks on occasion, mostly because people thought he'd be sweating like crazy. This was true, if not for cooling charms.

"I assume you are new to the city, they all have the same amazed look in their eyes. You're from one of the small villages then?"

"Per-Bastet, for the last year or two," Harry agreed, smiling. "It's a nice place to live, really."

"I've heard that," the soldier agreed. "There's stories going around about that city – they say Bast herself blessed that town for its devotion to her worship."

Harry smiled, though it was strained. "You've heard about that all the way out here?"

"Every rumour finds its way here, of course. Travellers from all over Egypt pass through here or trade here; if there is a storm at the sea, Tjenu will know of it in a mere two or three weeks. The tales of blessed Per-Bastet have been circulating for months, now."

"This looks like a marvellous place," Harry said, wondering how much of the story of Per-Bastet had reached this far.

"May I ask your name, stranger? You speak our language well, but your accent is peculiar. Are you from the East?" the soldier asked, frowning. "You dress in odd fashion, too."

"Actually, I'm from the far north," Harry said. "I'm not from Egypt, originally."

The soldier blinked. "A visitor from distant lands, then! Are you from beyond the northern seas? I don't know much about those lands, I admit." He paused. "Also, I believe you have forgotten to give your name."

"Ah," Harry said, smiling nervously. "It's Heru." He blinked, about to correct himself – he'd been going by that name for such a time now, it'd almost become natural – when the soldier flinched back a little, and he knew it was too late.

"You do not come from Egypt, you say? Is Heru a common name, where you are from?"

Harry shrugged. "It is just a name like any other."

"Where you are from, maybe. Perhaps you should visit the temple of the god whose name you bear. Here, the names of the gods are not given to infants, since it is considered sacrilegious, and some may take offense. Only the pharaoh's lineage is related to Heru directly, and is thus allowed to venerate him in their name."

"Where would I find that temple?" Harry frowned. He could try and use 'Harry' again, and hope it stuck this time, but he had no doubt it would change right back into Heru if his experience in Per-Bastet was any indication. With as many people around him as this, sooner or later he'd end up being discovered using magic, since he had no intention of going back to hiding it. Going by a made-up name was an option, but hardly one he preferred, and whatever he picked would probably end up being annoyingly famous regardless. Making his own pseudonym didn't appeal much to him either; he had quite enough similarities to Voldemort already.

"The temple of Heru is along the wall," The soldier explained, pointing westwards. "It's coloured white on the outside."

Harry nodded distractedly. He'd need a home and some solution for his name, before he did anything else. Perhaps the temple of Heru could indeed be helpful for that. He'd need to figure out if there were any wizards or witches here, too; if they were going to be anywhere in Egypt, they'd be around here, where most of the people lived. More than likely they'd have their own small government or the pharaoh ruled over both Muggles and magical, both of which would place the centre of power here. He nodded at the guard and smiled.

"Farewell," the soldier muttered with a nod. "I hope you find whatever you came here for."

* * *

**TWO WEEKS LATER – 3048 B.C.E.**

"That's fifteen duds," Harry muttered in annoyance as he picked himself up from the floor, looking around his room. He'd settled in easily enough, using some gems he'd gathered with magic to pay for a small brick house on the edge of the Noble district. In his hand he held a small piece of pottery, now broken, which he'd been trying to enchant for days now. Portkeys, it seemed, were annoyingly imprecise, at least if you were trying to figure out how to make them by trial and error.

Since arriving in town, Harry had found that people were much less interested in visitors and new arrivals than in Per-Bastet; the much larger population meant that most of the people he passed hadn't even seem him before, and didn't care one way or another why a strangely-dressed person was wandering around town.

The temple visit had been pointless. The priests had been rather vehement that he shouldn't enter the temple grounds, convinced that he, as a foreigner, had no place there. Harry had asked one of the more tolerant of the priests about his name, but all he'd gotten was a cold stare. Ultimately he'd left the place behind, unwilling to deal with such people at all. He really had no interest in using magic for such conceited pricks if they couldn't treat people decently.

His attempts to make a Portkey, though unsuccessful, had brought him to many parts of the city; he was capable of making a functioning version, but it kept throwing him off target and half the time he landed on a roof or in an alleyway, miles from home. At least it was a little progress, he supposed. He could thankfully apparate out of particularly hostile locations, especially the one time he'd managed to dump himself into what seemed to be an extremely rich person's bedroom if the decorated bed and elaborate golden wall-sculptures were anything to go by.

The most interesting place that he'd been to was the part of the city where the nobility lived, cordoned off from the rest by little more than a knee-high wall. It was regularly patrolled by guards, including Sam, the soldier that he'd originally met when entering town. Granted, his name was something more elaborate than just 'Sam', but Harry really couldn't remember the rest.

At the far end of the city, Harry had found, was the 'palace'. It was surprisingly modest, he thought, compared to the kind of work that went into the gleaming temples. It was built out of the same mud bricks as all the other houses, though it was more spacious. A grand entrance hall was used to meet important dignitaries, but the rest was remarkably simple; perhaps the ostentatiousness would come in the future (including the pharaoh's preposterously huge tombs?)

Dropping the broken pottery, Harry thought about the secluded alley directly across the courtyard in front of the palace, and vanished with a soft pop. He'd been getting quite good at apparating, lately, mostly because the loud crack of sloppy use would give him away rather easily. He had been using magic aplenty, including the water-cleaning spells that had become practically staples of his by now, but thus far he hadn't really used his magic for anything huge. His presence had not really been noticed yet. He was sure that the few who had probably seen him would be dismissed as crackpots anyway.

Tjenu, like Per-Bastet, seemed devoid of magic, which was a disappointment. Not only had he found no evidence of any wizards or witches, he hadn't even found any magical creatures, like he had out in the desert; for all intents and purposes, the city was entirely Muggle. He'd been tempted to just leave again, but reconsidered when he realized that the city was suffering many of the same ills as Per-Bastet, including a rather pressing need for food. The harvest had been bad, it seemed; he hadn't noticed that, since he'd personally supplied Per-Bastet with plenty of food to last for a while.

Stepping out of the alleyway between two brick buildings, both of which were richly decorated, he looked out over one of the most beautiful gardens he'd yet seen, here in Egypt; not only was it well-watered, but strange flowers grew everywhere, with odd ferns and narrow trees. It was the king's royal garden, in a sense. Several people were working in the garden, as well.

Harry wasn't sure exactly what he was doing here. Perhaps it was simply that Anedjib had mentioned the man, and he was interested in actually seeing the ruler of Egypt for himself. Perhaps he would like to try and make contact, to establish a more legitimate presence here, rather than just another jobless vagrant in a city rife with them. Regardless, he found himself intrigued. He'd seen the man twice now, from far away, but that hardly counted. He couldn't help wonder what kind of person Djer really was.

With a twist, Harry vanished once more.

* * *

**TEN MONTHS LATER – 3047 B.C.E.**

Harry left his shop with a smile, quickly casting _Colloportus_ upon the door. It was a rather ramshackle excuse for one, built out of the few scraps of wood he'd managed to gather, but it would keep unwanted visitors out, if they ever figured out what kind of riches were inside. Wood was a rarity around here, really, which meant his house did stand out a little as one of the few with a proper door as he recalled them from his own days.

The jewellery store had been a bit of a spontaneous idea; since he was capable of summoning all manner of gemstones and other useful minerals from the garbage of the more established craftsmen, he'd gone around to purchase their remnants (much to their disbelief) and begun to fashion beautifully cut gemstones. He'd gotten used to it back in Per-Bastet, and he found that it was easy enough with the right spells. Initially, he'd simply used them as payment in lieu of carrying around coins, but at some point he'd come across a fairly sizable quantity of malachite, and tried something else. He'd fashioned a falcon out of it, emulating the one that he'd made with Ahaneith. He hadn't realized how much people would want such a decoration when a rich nobleman had purchased it from him on the first day, expressing disbelief at his low price. Harry had talked that off, but it had given him an idea.

Actual jewels were less common here than Harry expected. Though he recovered quite a few remnants of gemstones from the trash of his competition, the vast majority were fake. Glass or other similar materials and coloured to resemble gemstones. From day one he'd only used the real variety, which was a lot easier for him to handle than it would be for any of the Muggle craftsmen, and his high-quality merchandise had attracted customers. When even the temple of Heru had begrudgingly sent someone along to order a necklace, he knew he was getting good_._

According to local folklore, jewels in the shape of religious symbols or animals had a magic of their own. Though Harry hadn't done anything to his first creations, he'd put some of his best protective enchantments on his later work, for several reasons; it would save lives, and any wizard or witch would be able to detect the magic and instantly know that he was around. It was a bit risky, perhaps, but it beat roaming the streets.

Harry was just heading for the market when he was quite suddenly tapped on the shoulder. "Craftsman H-Heru?" said a breathless voice, and Harry turned in confusion.

"Can I help you?"

The long-haired man nodded. "I am the servant Teni. You have been summoned to the palace, craftsman. The pharaoh would speak with you."

Harry blinked in astonishment. "The _pharaoh_?"

"He requests your presence, that is all I have been told." The man glanced towards the palace nervously.

"Well, of course I'll make something for him, if he wants," Harry muttered. "When does he expect me?"

"I have been sent to escort you to him presently," the servant answered, nodding. "It is a rare occurrence, that a commoner is summoned to the royal court, you should not have him wait."

"Yes, yes, I will come with you… couldn't you have come during working hours, though?" He glanced up, estimating it to be about eight in the evening. The sun would be setting soon. "I have all I need on me."

The man quickly walked off. Harry trailed behind him, frowning. Though he'd gotten a name as a craftsman among commoners, there hadn't really been any noble purchases of late, aside from the temple. He hadn't been too flashy either, so he doubted that the pharaoh required him for _that._ So what was this about? He was certain that the ruler's own jewellers would be able to make jewellery just as pretty as his own.

His new life, such as it was, had been going pretty well. He'd found something he actually enjoyed, crafting things with his own hands and a splash of magic. He'd apparated back to Per-Bastet twice in the past year, though the repeated apparitions required took a toll on him, and he couldn't afford to let his shop alone for too long either. He did enjoy the enthusiastic welcome he got, every time he dropped in. The second time he'd sought out the Phoenixes, though his search had been fruitless. Perhaps next time he'd have more luck.

His attempts to find a way home hadn't moved ahead the slightest bit; he still knew nothing. Even his attempts at making a Portkey had failed dramatically, and after the time he'd appeared directly above a campfire and only a flame-freezing charm had prevented him from burning his buttocks off, he'd put off further testing indefinitely. Perhaps if he could figure out how the spell was supposed to work he could pull it off, but he had no idea how to even begin researching that.

Harry stared at the palace uncertainly as he walked up to it, wondering what he was doing here. The pharaoh, the mightiest in all of Egypt - and yet here he was? Just... right here? It didn't make sense to him.

"The pharaoh shall meet with you in the hall," the servant said quickly, vanishing off to the side of the hall. The hall was painted and well-decorated with elaborate pottery, with something that reminded him of hieroglyphics along the walls, though it didn't look quite the same. Pillars flanked the long hall, and in between each set stood a soldier, straight-faced and wielding a wicked spear.

It took nearly five uncomfortable minutes before there was any movement. Harry kept to the front of the hall, crushing the urge to pace back and forth. He idly toyed with the handful of gemstones he still had in his pocket, his latest finds among the rubble of Har-shaf, the ugly fellow who ran the crafts shop closest to his own. It was far larger, but Harry wasn't too suprised by that; he was using magic, after all.

"Heru of Per-Bastet."

The pharaoh was here at last. The man that approached was rather shorter than Harry had expected, with a stern face and cloth covering his hair. He had a short beard that was tied together neatly; Harry thought it looked like a goat's beard, amusingly enough. Around his neck the pharaoh wore the most astounding golden collar with precious gemstones embedded into it, and in his hand he held... he had no idea. Harry had to look twice. It looked like an oversized _candy cane _of all things. Was it some kind of scepter? It took him a few moments to realize he was staring and he quickly bowed. "Pharaoh."

"I see such reactions quite often, from commoners," The pharaoh commented with a rather soft voice. He actually sounded vaguely amused. The pharaoh turned and his golden jewellery jostled, glinting in the light of the evening and the flickering fires that were used to keep the palace well-lit at all times. The pharaoh shook his head. "I had not expected you to grovel, messenger. Few with grand claims to power bow before their ruler, believing themselves superior."

Messenger? Superior? Harry stifled a groan, silently cursing Anedjib's loose lips. He didn't know how that particular tall tale had reached this city. He straightened, hoping that he was wrong about what hte pharaoh was referring to, but knowing he wasn't. Bloody hell.

"I am Djer, son of Aha, pharaoh of unified Egypt," the pharaoh announced shortly. "The royal family's relation to Heru, god of the kings, is great. When word reached these halls of one blessed by the gods who carried his name without shame, I had to meet that person, to see if the tales were true." He paused, stepping up to one of his many decorative pots and distractedly caressing the falcon's head that jutted out from the rim. "Are you the one I seek, craftsman? Are you the so-called miracle-worker of Per-Bastet?"

Harry swallowed thickly, glancing at the soldiers that still flanked the halls, staring at him with sharp eyes. He couldn't flee, and lying could be fatal, here. With a sigh, he nodded, closing his eyes. "I am."

The pharaoh smiled. "I see. There are many who claim to have been blessed by the gods. Few dare to say such a thing about Heru the Falcon-headed, for only those related to the royal bloodline are to have such favour." His eyes shot to Harry's, and for a moment Harry wondered that he'd made a mistake, that he'd be the target of the world's first witch-hunt. Then the man turned away. "You will be tested. Heru would not bestow favour upon a stranger, much less a foreigner, unless he has a purpose for it. I will see yours found, or your deceit exposed. Understood?"

"Yes... highness," Harry said, hoping that it was an appropriate form of adress. Some of the tension vanished from his frame as he realized he wouldn't need to make a daring escape using his magic, something that would probably put him on a hit-list across the nation. The pharaoh noticed that immediately.

"Confident, are you? You will not be so for long, I believe." He turned to the guards and beckoned them closer; two quickly approached. "Bring this... guest... to the waiting area. Have someone send for the serpent."

The soldiers nodded and quickly hurried off. What serpent would that be? Harry shook his head, trying to put it out of his head. Snakes. He didn't like snakes. He'd never had much luck with them - and now he couldn't even talk them out of attacking anymore, without his Parseltongue ability.

What had he gotten himself into?

* * *

**Author's Note:** I know I said 3/7 years last time, but this section took longer than I'd anticipated, mostly since I wanted some more Anedjib and Nebit before he skipped town. It still covers about 1,5 years, though. All three characters from Per-Bastet will be returning. I've tried to stick to literature as far as locations go, but sources disagree on the location of the capital in the first dynasty here, so I went with Tjenu/Thinis, rather than Memphis, or the ancient equivalent of it.

The next chapter involves Harry's time at the court, and should cover the previously mentioned periods. Ahaneith and Nebit come to the city, too. Meanwhile Harry uses his newfound position to actually study magic like he's never tried before.


	4. Serpent

**Chapter 4 – Serpent**

Harry winced as he was grabbed roughly by the shoulders and pushed into the adjoining hallway by two grim-faced soldiers, the points of their spears held uncomfortably close to his throat. The long hallway they travelled through passed several rather well-decorated rooms with high windows along the top of them that let in the rays of the setting sun. The Pharaoh himself had vanished down some side-passage, and Harry briefly wondered if he'd even be at this test, whatever it was.

Harry was led into a rather lengthy chamber that was splendidly decorated compared to most of the rest of the palace, and that was saying something. There was a rather familiar shrine at the end of it, featuring the falcon-headed image of Heru. Ominous wall-carvings of the Pharaoh holding a flail and wearing a crown flanked it; he was wearing a tall red-and-white crown that was familiar to him, though he wasn't sure what it meant.

"Wait here," one of the soldiers said sharply, roughly shoving Harry onto a long stone bench that ran along the wall. The soldier tapped his weapon on the ground and turned. "If you flee, you shall die by the spear."

"Yes, yes, I got it," Harry said tiredly, ignoring the men that escorted him in favour of studying the script on the walls. He knew rather little about hieroglyphics and the few times that he'd tried to learn from Anedjib he'd failed miserably, but he did think it looked rather interesting. It was a language with pictures instead of letters. He had no idea what most of the symbols meant, but traced the small falcon that he did recognize as Heru.

The Pharaoh's palace was impressive, but Harry had to admit that he was slightly underwhelmed compared to his expectations. After the ruins he'd visited in the future and after seeing even the smallest pyramid, this was cheap stuff in comparison. It was only two floors tall with most of the glamour derived from painting everything in bright colours and putting golden jewellery around every corner. It had none of the grandeur or wonder that he associated with this civilization. Harry wondered what exactly this was all about; he'd gathered that it had to do with his activities in Per-Bastet, but those were not harmful, and he certainly hadn't gone around trying to offend the Pharaoh.

The two soldiers that brought him in remained by his side constantly, and they didn't look much more enthusiastic about the situation than he himself. Though Harry was a bit tense for the first ten minutes, after half an hour he was just looking on with a bored half-lidded gaze. Shadows crawled ever so slowly across the gold-encrusted wall as the sun slowly set, occasionally catching a beautiful little emerald just right so that it twinkled at him merrily.

It didn't take very long before one of the guards got impatient. "Who _are _you?" he whispered, eyes narrowing. "I hear that you are a craftsman of some renown that makes high-quality decorations, yet you live in the commons?"

Harry looked at him with a bored expression. "What I choose to do is my business," he said dryly. "I don't need a big house or lots of gold. That's not what I'm after, at all."

"Yet you ingratiated yourself with the priests of Per-Bastet, and made blasphemous claims about yourself. That hardly speaks of humility." The soldier shook his head. "I do not understand. If you had lied to the Pharaoh about these charges, you might have escaped the moment you were let loose outside the palace."

Harry scoffed. "Lying to the Pharaoh? I'm not an idiot. Besides, the rumours about me were not started by me and I've never claimed them to be the complete truth. But, and this is important, it's not all false either. I can hardly go around pretending I'm _not _the one that the Pharaoh seeks."

The soldier scoffed. "You're called a miracle-worker? The only thing that I see which is miraculous is that your head is still on your shoulders after carrying Heru's name as your own."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "My _name_ was given to me, it was hardly my choice. Did _you_ have a choice in yours?"

Harry was about to make another remark when he heard footsteps from the adjoining hall. The Pharaoh came in first flanked by two more soldiers with tall spears and stormy expressions. Immediately behind them walked four servants who were carrying a huge metal box; they held it up with two long horizontal beams on each side. They lowered it on the far end of the room, right next to the shrine. The hissing sounds that came from within didn't make it difficult to guess what it was for, and Harry gulped. What kind of snake would be so big that it required that much room? He dearly hoped it wasn't another Basilisk, since he was short a magical sword.

The Pharaoh strode over to Harry with quick steps wearing an even more elaborate collar than before with gemstones all over it. "Heru of Per-Bastet," he said after a moment, staring down on him. Then he turned to the two soldiers. "What are your observations?"

"He did not attempt to flee," the first simply said. Harry rolled his eyes, half inclined to point out that he had no spear wounds, so that was obvious. The second soldier glanced at Harry, and then turned to the Pharaoh. "He seems honest."

"Really?" the Pharaoh smiled thinly, turning his sharp eyes on Harry once more, before he moved on to the large box. Harry could still hear soft hissing coming from it, and for once he'd have liked his Parseltongue ability back, so he could ward them off. The Pharaoh followed his gaze. "Yes, this is the test that I mentioned. The Challenge of the Serpent is one that all Pharaoh since the great Narmer have passed. It is used to judge those of the royal bloodline worthy of leading Egypt, and those who believe they have greater claim to the position are weeded out. It is a test of one's true allegiance to Heru, the progenitor of all the Pharaohs."

Harry frowned, staring at the casket. The snake had to be in there, then. It had to be pissed if it was kept in a small box like that.

"The serpents of the south are strange creatures in many ways. It is not known who first created them, which god can be credited with their existence. All consider them royal creatures, a symbol of the unending reign of the Pharaoh. They shed their skin, renewing themselves across their long lives in a multitude of ways, ever changing and yet staying the same in essence. The Pharaohs pass on their title to their children, thus keeping the line of Heru intact. He was and is the first Pharaoh, the divine."

Harry frowned, staring at the box. Really, he had no idea what to make of it. Heru was a local deity, he knew that, but to actually claim a literal blood connection to him? And where did the snake come into the picture?

"The serpent within this casket will not attack those of like nature to itself. It will not kill a Pharaoh, nor will it harm those loyal to Heru the Great. This will be your test, one that many have failed at in the past. Their bones are scattered in the valleys, now. You shall sit with the snake in its home for eight hours, and let it judge your worth. Its poison is lethal in an instant. If you fail you shall not know it in life, and will find yourself in the underworld by morning. Your bones will join those of your predecessors. If you survive…" the Pharaoh shook his head. "We shall see."

Harry stared at the casket nervously, then. No wonder it was so large. He was supposed to get _inside _that thing. Inside a box barely large enough to hold two people, inhabited by what sounded like an awfully huge snake. Thank heavens he had his wand on him.

"You will not have an advantage over the creature," The Pharaoh said suddenly, and Harry's gaze shot up to meet his in consternation. Evidently he'd noticed Harry's movement, and the man's sardonic smile was clear enough. "You will go in the same way that I did, Heru of Per-Bastet. You will enter like a new-born. The serpent has only those faculties the gods have granted it. The same shall be true for you."

Harry gulped audibly. "I'm supposed to be _naked_?"

The Pharaoh chuckled softly. "Yes, foreigner. You wear much for a warm climate, so I assume you are from a nation in which the climate is less pressing.I have heard of the distant folks that shun nakedness entirely, though I have never understood it. Are you from between the two rivers, perhaps? Further east than that, even?" He smiled as he shook his head. "This is not a choice. You will have to swallow your pride."

After several years in Egypt, Harry really didn't have much shame left; everyone walked around half-clothed, and the only reason he preferred a tunic was simply because it reminded him of home, reminded him that he wasn't really a native here. The problem wasn't prudishness, but losing his wand. He couldn't grab it now, since the Pharaoh would see it. Even if they didn't have a clue what it was, he certainly wouldn't be allowed to take it with him. How was he going to pull off surviving a deadly snake without spells? Could he even survive snake venom? He knew wizards were more resistant to that kind of thing, but by how much? He'd been able to take the Basilisk's venom for a little while, far longer than any Muggle would have, but he would have died anyway, if not for Fawkes. He was hardly immune_._

A servant pulled open the side of the casket, and the hissing from inside instantly got much, much louder. It was dark inside, of course, the flickering fires in the hall barely enough to illuminate the edges. Quite suddenly the hissing noise vanished entirely from the casket, and Harry didn't know what that meant. He couldn't go in there: He had nothing to protect himself with. He wasn't a Pharaoh, so this kind of 'test' was certainly not meant for him. He thought of obliviating the lot of them, but even if he had known that spell, he'd risk pulling a Lockhart on these people, and he didn't wish that on anyone else. What could he do that didn't involve hurting the people around him?

"Unclothe him," the Pharaoh ordered unemotionally, and before Harry could process that his tunic was on the ground, and someone had cut his makeshift belt, and he was pushed forward harshly.

"In."

Harry was shoved into the box forcefully, and it was immediately slammed shut behind him, leaving him in near-total darkness. There was a slight sliver of light that crept in from the air holes in the top, but that was it. He froze as he remembered he wasn'talone in here, that there was something much _much _worse. He very slowly turned his head towards the other side of the box. He couldn't apparate without his wand, or much of anything else. If the worst happened, though, he still had his strength; he could probably knock the side out of the casket. Of course, he'd probably get stabbed to death by the guards that were probably just outside, and that wasn't any better than a snake's bite.

For five long, drawn-out minutes, Harry stared into the darkness as his eyes slowly got used to the lack of light. He kept still, hoping that the snake would ignore him, that it would leave him be. He worriedly took stock of his options. He was rubbish at wandless magic, and he suspected that accidental magic was rare enough at his age that it certainly wouldn't be in time to stop him from getting bitten. He didn't dare hope he could physically fight off a snake, not without getting bitten. If the Pharaoh was right about the strength of the creature's venom, it'd probably be lethal to him as it would be to any Muggle. Staring into the darker recesses of the casket, Harry realized that he saw the long curves of the creature's sinuous body. It was _huge._

It was striped, with alternating black and a light colour, though the poor light did nothing to help him determine what it was. It was curled up tightly, its head resting on its own body. Harry could only just see the unblinking eyes that, for now, seemed to be ignoring him. Harry shifted slightly as his back protested against his position and his foot touched a soft, rough surface, oddly warm to the touch. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he realized what he'd touched, and he ever so carefully pulled his foot back. There, right next to his feet was a second snake. No, that wasn't right…

"More than one head," Harry whispered. He glanced back towards the first he'd seen, and it took him only a moment to realize that there was a third head on the far side, in between the twists of the snake's body, and all three of the heads joined in the same location. It was a three-headed snake, its neck separating some distance along the length of its body.

"You're a Runespoor," Harry said in English, astonished. It was a magical breed of snake native to Africa, that was true enough, but it was certainly not from Egypt's deserts. How had the Pharaoh managed to capture one of these, and why wasn't it trying to escape? He tried to remember what he knew about the snake, though it was no more than general knowledge from Hagrid's classes.

Just as Harry had calmed down enough to calm his rapid breathing, the Runespoor moved. Very slowly it slithered closer, keeping its three heads together as it slowly uncurled. It looked very much like a cobra with its heads nearly touching the ceiling of the box; the Critic bore its fangs.

Harry stared at it nervously. "Would you mind not killing me?" he asked, almost snorting at how pathetic he sounded. Runespoors were supposed to be intelligent beings, so they wouldn't just bite and be done with it. That wouldn't make much of a test either, he figured. Harry winced as the two outer heads snapped forward and then backed away again. The serpent's tongues flickering out and in again, tasting the air, its left and right heads bobbing softly in the air while the middle just stared. Harry looked on apprehensively as it came closer, slowly sliding past his feet. It was quick and confident, and knew that Harry couldn't do anything to it, not without getting hurt. Harry had the urge to flee, to get the hell out of the casket, but forced himself to stay still.

Runespoors, unlike normal snakes, had three heads with three different functions; one planned, one dreamed, one criticized. The Planner hissed, and the Critic joined in, showing off its pair of huge fangs. The Dreamer between them just continued staring ahead, seemingly focused on the middle of Harry's chest. Probably it wasn't all here, instead lost in imagination or flights of fancy while the others controlled the body.

After fifteen minutes, Harry realized that the Runespoor wasn't going to attempt to attack him; it was content to warm itself on his skin, it seemed. The Planner stared at him, but did nothing else beyond that. Harry wondered what he was going to do, now. If he wasn't going to break out of here, then he'd just have to succeed at the test, however that was done. What criteria was the snake looking for? He was under no illusion that this was simply a test not to anger the snake. A Runespoor was intelligent; it wouldn't be manipulated like that.

"Where did you come from, Runespoor? Did they take you from your home, or did you come willingly?" Harry asked softly, and he frowned. "What would make you help the Muggles, when they keep you in a box like this?" Harry almost flinched back when the Critic hissed at him irritably. That got through, then. "You can understand me?"

The Planner bobbed its head up and down as if nodding.

That was something, at least. "Are you going to kill me?"

The snake's left head wavered back and forth after he asked the question, glancing to the Dreamer, and then back at him. It seemed it had something to do with choosing whether or not he would survive… what did that mean?

He looked at the Planner, frowning. "You're the one that decides what you're going to do, obviously, so you must've been involved in getting here as well. Are you kept here against your will?"

The Planner quite firmly shook its head, and the Critic hissed dangerously. Not captives, then.

"You came here voluntarily, then? On your own?"

The Planner nodded, though the Critic wavered. The two hissed to each other sharply. They weren't here against their will, but they hadn't come here under their own power, Harry figured. Perhaps the snake had been traded with some foreign nation, and it wasn't even used to the outside world. Harry thought about the snake he'd once set free from the zoo; that one had been born in captivity. Perhaps it was like that?

"Do you know what the Pharaoh wants with me? What kind of test is this?" He shook his head tiredly, trying to squash his nerves. That wasn't a question a snake could answer, not without a proper language. "Do I have to do or say something to get out of here alive?"

The Planner glanced at the Critic, who in turn hissed sharply at the Dreamer. For a moment nothing happened, and then the middle head twitched and moved.

The Dreamer hissed slowly, almost melodically, and Harry suspected that it was singing, or what went for singing among snakes. The Dreamer's head weaved and bobbed in between the two others, its eyes focused on Harry with an intensity that had been altogether missing before. Finally it stopped its little dance, its fangs gleaming, though it didn't move.

The Dreamer, the head that was supposed to see things that never were, sang to him. Danced, even. What did that mean? Harry felt a chill run down his back at the six-eyed stare that he was faced with. Quite suddenly the Runespoor moved again, curling up besides Harry in a circle with the Dreamer's head snatching its own tail in its jaws. The Planner and Critic continued to stare at him with those uncomfortable beady eyes. Harry let out a long and relieved sigh as he saw that the snake had retracted its fangs, though

Harry stared at the snake for a long time, wondering what exactly the test had been. Where had the Runespoor come from? Had someone planted it here? He slumped against the inside of the casket, staring at the thin pinpricks of light above him. They reminded him of the stars, shimmering in the night sky.

* * *

He wasn't in the box anymore. In fact, he was lying on something very soft and comfortable. Harry blinked drowsily as he shoved away a blanket that smelled pleasantly of flowers. His eyes snapped open fully and he sat up with a start. He wasn't in the box anymore!

The room he was in was very luxurious with a magnificent bed featuring falcons carved into the wooden posts, the walls decorated with golden shapes and sculpted falcons. He stared around in amazement, realizing he recognized this room. He'd been here before, once, when he was experimenting with his Portkeys. Was this still in the palace? He had dodged a hell of a bullet that time, then.

"You are awake at last," a voice said from the door, and Harry turned smoothly towards them. The servant bowed unusually deeply, his eyes refusing to meet Harry's before he turned and left without another word. Harry didn't quite know what to make of that, and decided to at least dress up, before he got any more unwanted visitors. His head felt heavy, but his headache was the least of his troubles right now. Trying to remember what had happened after he'd had his rudimentary conversation with the Runespoor, he realized that arranged next to his bed was a pile of clothes including his tunic. Next to the pile was a small pile of gemstones, Harry recognized them as the ones he'd stored in the pockets he'd sown on the inside of his clothes. Next to them was his wand, intact.

He quickly clothed himself and realized with mild annoyance that he didn't have a belt anymore to keep his kilt from falling off. He quickly shrank it a little bit, frowning. He'd never really gotten used to the casual way people here dressed, as it felt like his clothes could fall off at any moment. The fact that he'd already been unwillingly naked once in the last day was quite enough. Just as he put on his tunic and slipped his wand into its trusty pocket, the Pharaoh appeared in the doorway, his expression surprisingly neutral. He stared at Harry for a long moment, and Harry looked right back.

"Heru of Tjenu," the Pharaoh said, glancing around the room. "If you have no more business here, I would have you follow me."

A pretty ostentatious way of putting things, Harry thought, but he figured that the leader of Egypt could probably get away with pretty much anything. He quickly fell in step. He'd only passed through two rooms when he realized he was getting strange looks from everyone. At first he attributed it to the fact that he was with the Pharaoh, but their gazes seemed to stray higher - to the top of his head. Harry reached up and blinked. There was something tied in his hair!

"Do not disturb it," the Pharaoh chided as they passed through a long hallway devoid of staring people. "It is ceremonial; you will be able to take it off when we are away from prying eyes."

Harry nodded uncertainly, realizing that he was alone, entirely alone, with the Pharaoh of Egypt. He'd hoped to get into the Pharaoh's good graces when he first arrived in the capital, but nothing like this. Still, he had to just go with the flow. He'd known that things were going to change when that Runespoor had put down its heads, when it hadn't even tried biting him. The snake had known something. Something about what was going on that Harry hadn't even figured out yet, perhaps.

He thought back to his arrival, now more than two years ago. It felt like a much shorter time, perhaps because he'd spent a lot of his time making himself useful: He'd learned the Egyptian language, he'd figured out how the culture worked, mostly, and he'd even gotten quite a bit better at his basic spells just by using them a lot in daily life. He didn't have the luxuries of the modern day, and had to figure out a way around them, which turned out to be rather difficult, if interesting. His limited knowledge of magic was annoying, but he was sure he'd figure out a way to expand beyond his Hogwarts spells.

He missed home still, but it was a bit more distant now. He supposed that all things considered, it was as good a time as any for this to happen. He'd finished his duty. He'd ended Voldemort, and finished the prophecy. He hadn't yet had a family to leave behind, either. He would've married Ginny, he was sure, but they had barely made contact again after the events of his last year. It felt more distant than it really was. There were a few faces he'd love to see again, but he knew that they'd be alright. Ron and Hermione had each other, and most of the rest would go on without him. They'd probably mourn, and he wished he could tell them he was fine. But... they'd move on. Harry shook his head tiredly, thinking about the craziness of all of this.

He knew how time-travel worked. He'd used a time-turner, travelled back to the past and changed things; or so he thought. If this was the same, then everything he remembered would be the same, no matter what he did here. In fact, _because_ of what he did here. He'd always been part of history, and that meant he'd always been destined to end up in the past, walking next to the Pharaoh of Egypt, shaping the future. Would his attempts to recreate the Portkey, crude as they were, be the origin of the spell in the future?

Khnurn and the cat, they'd sent him here for a reason. They'd known what they were doing; likely the cat was an Animagus, or at the very least a Kneazle hybrid, intelligent and cunning. Whatever those two had done after he'd passed out ended with him in the distant past, caught in an era when magic was barely in existence yet. He'd landed in a time when civilization was still a tenuous thing, only just developing many of the techniques and inventions that would dominate the next few thousand years. Khnurn had orchestrated this for a reason; perhaps he'd known about his role in history. Perhaps he had found out about his date with destiny.

'For every joy there is a price to be paid.'

What had he meant with those last words? Perhaps the price was the loss of his friends, losing a future in the Wizarding World. Perhaps the price had been the pain that had brought him here. Ananeith had found him covered in wounds and scars, after all, though they had all faded away. He'd paid in plenty of ways already, what joy would he get in return?

Harry focused on the present, wondering if he'd unwittingly managed to do what he'd originally come to the city for, to impress the Pharaoh. Had Anedjib known about that, really _known_, or had it simply been his magic that had convinced him? Were there Seers in this time and place? He'd never learned much about the Ancient Egyptians, but the possibility sent a chill down his back. In a way, by relaying what Per-Bastet would someday be to Anedjib, he'd already placed himself in that position.

Harry realized suddenly that he'd been led to a well-protected room that was immediately blocked off by two guards the moment he stepped in. A dark-haired woman wearing a shimmering dress sat in the corner, looking at him curiously. The Pharaoh removed his large golden collar in a single movement and sighed in relief before turning to his wife. "Love, this is Heru of Tjenu, who has passed through the test unharmed," he said, gesturing towards Harry. "Heru, this is my wife Nakhtneith, Queen of Egypt."

Harry's eyes widened as he realized where he was. This had to be the Pharaoh's personal abode, a sprawling set of rooms with a balcony. He bowed awkwardly before he could make a fool of himself for staring again. "It is an honour to meet you," he said quickly.

"I have heard much about you," the Queen said, smiling thinly. She glanced at her husband and shrugged. "You have missed an opportunity to see my husband when he is not fully composed. When that casket was opened and you were not dead..." She smiled. "Ah, it was a sight to behold."

The Pharaoh sent an irritated look her way. "It is true... I had not expected you to live." He sat down next to his wife, ushering Harry to take the chair across from him. Harry gingerly lowered himself onto it, distractedly admiring the ornate wooden table that was inlaid with silver. "The test that you underwent is considered impossible. The serpent searches for certain qualities, and there are precious few who have them, and even among the royal family there have been those who failed. What is more, though, is that the snake formed the symbol of perpetuity, of endlessness. It seems, contrary to my expectations, that you are indeed worthy of carrying Heru's name."

Harry shrugged. "I don't know what the snake was supposed to look for."

"The serpent sees all," the Pharaoh said simply, pursing his lips. "Its eyes can see one's past, present, and future, so Narmer said. He is my ancestor, the first Pharaoh of united Egypt. The test was created by him, to ensure the continued success of this nation. Only those who are seen as righteous in Heru's eye will leave the casket with their breath and blood."

"There were few choices on what to do with _you._" the Queen added softly. "You could not be Pharaoh of course, but clearly the gods favour your presence."

Harry stopped short. Bloody hell, if she was suggesting what he thought she was… Harry shook his head in amazement. He just went from the slums to the capital to the bloody palace?

"You are not of the bloodline of kings, therefore you do not fall within the normal system of inheritance. Some might have claimed you were an illegitimate descendant of the royal family, but none would claim such with your skin and hair." He shook his head and smiled. "It is clear that you are a foreigner, which made things much easier. It might be more difficult to gain trust or support from the masses, but you will certainly not be the subject of one of those distasteful family scandals." The Pharaoh glanced at his wife and nodded.

"So... what do I do?" Harry swallowed. "Do I stay here?"

The Pharaoh glanced at his wife. "I considered letting you reclaim your old life for you are a respected craftsman, and I would not wish to lose such a boon to this city."

"I talked him out of that idea," the Queen added, smiling. "There must be a purpose for your presence here, and a study of our oldest records helped me in coming up with an alternative I suggested that you become an official advisor to the Pharaoh. It is a position that several temples have long suggested, though I believe they were interested in putting one of their own in that place." She smiled sagely. "The Pharaoh's word, however, will bring them in line. The position does require you to fulfill certain agreements and duties."

"You're giving me a job." Harry said after a moment, perplexed. Then he chuckled, looking at the Pharaoh and shaking his head. "I think you might rethink this idea, you know. I'm not used to working for people much, especially lately..."

"Then you will learn, of course." The Pharaoh frowned. "Your headpiece will have to be fitted - the one you currently have is clearly too small."

"Does it have to be a _crown?" _Harry muttered in annoyance, plucking at his hair. "It's hard enough getting my hair to behave as it is..."

"There is no established tradition," the Pharaoh said blandly. "I will have a more appropriate symbol of rank made."

Harry pulled the crown out of his hair, rummaging in his pocket for his wand. He stared at the gaudy golden object for a long moment. "Do you need this crown for anything?"

Staring at the headpiece, Harry sighed. Advisor to the bloody Pharaoh. He still couldn't wrap his head around that one. If he was going to go around following what was essentially the King of Egypt, he'd have to come across as at least somewhat formal, and he'd never really spent time around the nobles before. Granted, being a foreigner was a great excuse for not knowing customs, but if he made a fool of himself, he certainly wouldn't keep the Pharaoh's favour. He glanced at the Pharaoh speculatively. Could he pull off an act as the Court Magician? He'd read stories about them, the mysterious wizard that advised the king, but who always kept himself unknowable. Would it work in an actual court?

"It is of no value beyond its materials," the Pharaoh said dismissively, and Harry was brought out of his thoughts. If he was going to do this little act, then he'd have to inform the Pharaoh about what he'd be doing. There was one major part of it that he'd need to get out of the way right now. He pulled out his wand with a twirl.

The Pharaoh narrowed his eyes. "I noticed that piece of wood among your possessions; what is its purpose? A divining rod?"

"It's a little more than that," Harry said with a grin. "Just watch." He tapped the crown with the tip of his wand and it turned soft and rubbery, almost dripping out of his hand entirely. Harry had gotten quite good at moulding and cutting metal using transfiguration, courtesy of his jewellery business; these days, he could practically do it in his sleep. With a few jabs and prods at the metal that were precise and quick, the last of the metal gave way. The entire crown came undone into a glob of metal, with the few gems embedded in it dropping to the table.

The gold deformed and twisted around itself until it took a new shape, circular and somewhat flat, and segmented all throughout. Harry had decided that a collar similar to the Pharaoh's own would work, and it would not stand out quite as much as the rather unsightly crown; he made sure to make it smaller than the real thing, though. The gems he still had in his pockets found their way into the front of the collar, sinking into the gold as if it were a liquid. Finally Harry carved a shape in the front of it with a few quick taps: A snake biting its own tail.

The Pharaoh and his wife were staring openly as Harry put on the collar, resizing it slightly so it draped comfortably across his shoulders. It looked a bit gaudy against his rather old and worn vest, but it did its job well enough. He pulled a hand through his hair, smiling. "What do you think? Will this work?"

"That..." The Pharaoh swallowed thickly. "I had almost forgotten the stories," he said slowly. "When I first heard of you, they called you the miracle-worker of Per-Bastet. Now I understand. You possess the power of the gods themselves!"

Harry shrugged lightly. "I call it magic."

* * *

**THREE MONTHS LATER – 3047 B.C.E.**

"Come on, this can't be that difficult," Harry muttered to himself, tapping a rather ugly pot repeatedly with his wand. There was no blue glow. He hadn't figured out if that was an error on his part or if it was optional, but at least the pot warmed slightly whenever he tried to enchant it.

"_Portus_!" he tried again, and once more there was nothing, not even the explosive flash of yesterday's experiment nor the gout of flame that had reached to the ceiling and turned a small part of his ceiling into a glassy substance that he still couldn't quite identify.

Experimenting with spells was risky at the best of times, but he didn't have much of a choice. His attempts at using the Portkey spell as he remembered it being used were dead ends; he'd only managed to throw himself around the city, rather than any longer distance (let alone a specific spot.) He'd given up on experimenting with the spell in favour of trying to vary it, hoping that he could try to transport inanimate objects first before he would subject his own body to it once again.

Magical theory had never been his strong suit, and though Professor Flitwick had been quite adamant about the necessity of reading the gigantic tome that he'd suggested, Harry had never actually bothered to do so. The only bits and pieces that he recalled were regarding wand movements and intent-based magic; the latter had more to do with the Patronus than anything else, but it was allegedly much more widely applicable. The nastiest of intent-based spells were of course the Unforgivables, mired as they were in requiring dark thoughts to even pull them off.

The mechanics of Portkeys or Apparition had escaped him then and did the same now; though he could apparate without trouble because he was aware of how to cast the magic, he knew barely anything about why it worked or how it was supposed to function. The same was true for most of his spells, and he was trying to change that. If he could figure out Portkeys, perhaps he could apply what he learned more generally. Was it the wand-movement that did it? Did it have any particular meaning or was it all a big mind-game to convince himself that something was possible? If you taught a child the Avada Kedavra spell but convinced them it was used for levitation, what would it do? Kill, or levitate?

"_Portus_!" Harry blinked as there was a brief blue flash. "Wait... that worked?"

He hadn't been thinking about a specific place at all. The one time he really shouldn't have gotten anything... and it worked? Quickly he grabbed his cup from the table, putting it in the pot. If all was correct, it would activate in 3, 2, 1...

"I'll be damned," Harry said as the Portkey disappeared entirely. Where to was a question of tracking the cup down; he'd enchanted it with enough spells that he could sense it from a mile away in this mostly Muggle-only neighbourhood, and he wasn't feeling anything. "Okay, either I accidentally disintegrated it, or I finally got it past a mile," he muttered as he quickly fastened his collar and his fancy new vest. Time to go out there and figure out a way to excuse himself from the Pharaoh's side for a few days, it seemed.

* * *

"YES!" Harry collapsed to the roof with a grin from ear to ear, dropping the cup and raising his hands to the sky. "Finally! I don't know how, but I did it!"

Three long months of increasingly creative variations on his wand movements, his incantation, his focus, and finally he'd managed to make a Portkey, if by accident. At least it told him one thing: whatever he'd been doing, he'd been trying too hard. This one had almost made itself; he'd only nudged it along, and it'd worked, unlike all of his methodical, precise attempts at figuring out how it worked. Did that say something about his shoddy work, or something about magic itself?

He wondered what Dumbledore might have said of his little feat. Harry Potter, recreating the Portkey spell from a vague memory and a ton of trial and error. Granted, he had a leg up over whoever came up with it in the first place (he tried not to consider the possibility of a paradox) in that he was at least aware that it was doable, but it was still a feat. Instantaneous long-distance transportation, from scratch. More so than Dumbledore's reaction, he could imagine Hermione's. He couldn't decide if she'd be incredibly jealous or incredibly impressed, or both at the same time. At the very least she'd be indignant that she hadn't been involved.

"Heru? Is that you?"

Harry raised himself up from the roof and took a quick look over the edge. In his reverie he'd almost forgotten where he'd finally found his missing cup, and his arrival had apparently not gone entirely unnoticed. Granted, he'd been trying to make a Portkey to Per-Bastet since the very beginning, but he was still surprised when he tracked his golden cup down to this place. He couldn't suppress a smile when he was who it was that called him. "Hey, old man! It's good to see you!"

Anedjib looked up disapprovingly, shaking his head. "Come down from there, would you? That roof has already collapsed once, I certainly do not want a repeat of that disasterr." He looked on in dismay as Harry simply vaulted off the roof, landing with a casual ease.

"You're awfully silent," Harry said after a while as the two just looked at each other. "It's the first time I've been here in months - you won't believe the amount of work I've been swamped with - and yet you've barely said a word." He paused, then nodded. "Oh. Of course. You've had word from the capital, haven't you?"

Anedjib glanced at the collar Harry was wearing. "Indeed, 'Advisor'."

Harry smirked. "I might know a thing or two about the future, but you're not half bad yourself, it seems. Can you believe this? Let me tell you, being an advisor is a hell of a job, despite what it sounds like. I thought I had a lot of stuff to do when I was in the jewellery business, but that's peanuts compared to this! Just last week the Pharaoh had me stick a foreign dignitary to the ceiling for insulting him, and I had to stay there and look menacingly at him for the next hour!" He shook his head in amusement. "I'm involved in practically every meeting with foreign dignitaries too, so I've got a little information that you might find helpful. I'm sure it'll reach you by the normal channels in a week or two."

"You must tell me how all of this happened," Anedjib noted, trying to ignore the gleaming golden collar that Harry was wearing. "I cannot say I am entirely surprised, of course..."

"It's quite a tale," Harry said, smirking. "The Pharaoh actually sought me out, rather than the other way around. It started with a three-headed snake and it just got weirder from there. Long story short, the Pharaoh thought I should be an advisor, and only after that did he find out about the whole magic thing. The priests of the temple of Heru practically had a fit when they found out that they'd denied me access."

"That must have been amusing," Anedjib commented. "I can only imagine what the other priests will say when they see you are here in person..."

Harry smiled. "The ones in the capital wouldn't stop apologizing for weeks, and when I finally had mercy on them and told them to forget it, I think I could hear the sigh of relief all the way from my room in the palace." He shook his head. "The Pharaoh's a busy man, so I don't see him as much as you'd think. Sometimes I end up just helping out the Queen, which is enjoyable enough, I guess. All in a Court Magician's job description."

They entered the temple, which seemed unusually tiny given what Harry had gotten used to by now. Harry recognized only three of the people present. The fourth, a rather lanky fellow, was probably a new immigrant. As Harry stepped up to the shrine he cleared his throat. "Rather a puny offering, don't you think? I hear that you still have respectable harvests, some of that wouldn't be amiss..."

"Who is your guest, High Priest Anedjib?" The new man asked. Unlike the others he had a full head of hair and he was decidedly younger.

Harry smiled at the young man, jostling his collar so it glittered in the light. "They call me Heru of Tjenu these days. Advisor to the Pharaoh."

"Wh-What?" The man stared, glancing at the other priests who looked rather sheepishly at Harry. "To the _Pharaoh_? Why would such a person be here?"

"I've come to visit friends and to deliver a missive regarding some recent developments in Per-Bastet." He retrieved a small papyrus scroll from his tunic and dropped it onto the shrine. "I intended to send it in the coming week, but I don't believe delivering it early will be a problem."

"Of course not," Anedjib assured him, looking on nervously. "What is it about?"

Harry smiled knowingly. "As of the coming year the temple of Bast in this town will be increased in size and scope. The Pharaoh believes that the town has a high chance of becoming economically significant in the future, and he wishes to have a stronger presence. The newly expanded temple will also provide room for a small military detachment from the capital that will keep the inhabitants of the village safe from the bandits that have been plaguing the area."

"In the coming year, you say? To make such significant changes so quickly is unheard of," one of the priests mumbled, glancing at Harry suspiciously. "To show preference for one town over another, surely that is not allowed...?"

"Everything I told the Pharaoh about Per-Bastet was the complete truth," Harry said sharply. "The fact that people are still moving here even after last year is a good sign. Several weeks ago a somewhat annoyed dignitary from Heliopolis came by to protest the number of people being 'drawn away' by the stories of this village's prosperity, particularly craftsmen. It is obvious to me that the sudden increase in inhabitants here is making other people curious, which further enhances the size of the village. Within some years this cycle will make this into a respectable town, even without the Pharaoh's help. My suggestions had nothing to do with the fact that I lived here for a time."

"If you say so," the priest mumbled. "Are there matters that we need to discuss regarding this... surprising development?"

Anedjib opened the letter, quickly reading through it. Harry had no idea what it said, but got a pretty good idea of what it contained when a huge grin spread across the old man's face. Good news for Per-Bastet, it seemed.

The afternoon passed by quickly as Harry ended up describing the temples of the capital to the priests. Only two of them had even seen the capital, and his descriptions of beautiful golden sculptures and murals across the walls were of particular interest, it seemed. The few words he shared about the Pharaoh himself just earned him awed stares, as if being in the man's proximity had somehow rubbed off on him. Anedjib looked on with mild amusement while that went on, and at last Harry excused himself and followed him out.

"Be honest, did you arrange the bigger temple, Heru?" Anedjib asked finally. "I know what people are supposed to believe, but..."

"I told the truth," Harry answered simply. "I'm going to visit Ahaneith and Nebit before I head back to the palace; lots of stuff to do. Do you have an old pot or something?" He looked around distractedly, picking up a rock. "This will do. Say-" He paused. "Come visit sometime, will you? I can give you a tour." Anedjib nodded as Harry tapped the rock and it glowed blue. "It's only a small distance, but the same principle should hold..."

* * *

Things were upside-down. Why were things upside-down?

Harry blinked blearily, and a sharp pain shot through his skull like someone had stabbed a spear into his forehead. He groaned, trying in vain to get himself upright, but his limbs wouldn't respond and his head pounded in protest. Distractedly, he tried to remember what happened: He'd been heading for Ahaneith and Nebit hadn't he? The Portkey...

"You really do manage to get into the weirdest of problems."

Harry tried to turn to the voice, but he couldn't; his eyes refused to focus. "Who... What..."

"Hold on, let me..." A sharp pain encompassed everything for a moment and Harry flailed away from it in a panic, but was stopped by someone forcing him down to the ground with a firm hand. "Keep still, you'll rip the cloth. I figured you would've realized that by now."

"Who...?"

"I'm just a friend," the voice said easily. "I really would like to give you some more care-free years, you know. You've barely tasted the potential of your new position, after all. Advisor to the Pharaoh... I've seen more impressive things, but not many. Now hold on - you should be starting to feel better any moment now."

"What happened?" Harry blurted out, managing to raise an arm to his face and wipe the sweat out of his eyes with some effort. "Where am I?"

"You smashed rather nastily into the city wall, actually. Quite an interesting thing to see, though you had me scared for a moment there. You're not indestructible you know. If you'd been hit a little harder you wouldn't be sitting here with a bruised brain. You'd be a corpse."

"Is this... _Tjenu_?" Had he managed to sling himself back home without even meaning to? He blinked in confusion. He hadn't even been thinking about it. Not in more than an off-hand manner, anyway. His head pulsed with pain and he decided that the thought could wait for later. It was worse enough that he'd managed to make a gaffe like this to begin with; considering the last time he hurt this much, he had to be glad he hadn't woken up in another era.

"Where else did you think they had ugly walls like these to smack into?" the voice asked, mildly amused. "I've petitioned for some proper white ones for ages, but I don't think that will happen here. Perhaps somewhere else..." The man paused. "Are your eyes okay? You've been staring at the sky for the last five minutes."

"I am not seeing much of anything," Harry muttered, suddenly panicking as something occurred to him. "Wait, did you see a stick? I must've been holding it." The man hummed affirmatively and his wand was pressed in his hand. Harry sighed in relief as he realized it was intact. "Thank you."

"I came down from Heliopolis for a little sight-seeing, hadn't quite anticipated seeing you falling from the sky. Honestly I figured you'd be getting comfortable in the palace. Maybe I should keep a closer eye on things, make sure this stuff doesn't happen again, eh?"

Harry didn't answer, tapping the back of his head with the wand. A few quick spells took the edge off the pain and he sighed in relief as the sickening feeling of weakness drained away He was fairly sure he hadn't broken anything, though he felt like he'd been run over by a Hippogriff. "Who are you...?"

"It's not important, Harry Potter. You just make your way back to the palace and enjoy the coming years. You can afford it."

"What?" Harry snapped to attention at the use of his full name and he forced his aching eyes open. Nobody. He was entirely alone, a few hundred meters from the entrance to the city. Someone had bandaged his head with some kind of patterned cloth, and judging by the pool of blood he was still sitting in, not a moment too soon.

That voice had been familiar. He'd heard it so often in his dreams, alongside monstrous cats and crumbling pyramids. It'd been Khnurn. It had to be. This left him with a conundrum. He was stuck without Portkeys again until he could figure out what had sent him smacking himself nearly to death against the city wall, and he couldn't just leave. If he was going to pursue the man, he'd need to discuss it with the Pharaoh at least. There had to be a good excuse he could use to travel the country, so that he could figure out what the man could tell him about getting home. Perhaps he'd found a lead at last.

He smiled despite his aching head and unstable feet. "Heliopolis, wasn't it?"

* * *

**Author's Note: **I compressed some events a bit, so that the time-skips aren't huge just yet. Next time we get Ahaneith and Nebit again as well as more Pharaoh Djer and his Queen, more Harry as the court mage in his actual function, and tracking down that elusive bastard Khnurn.


	5. Emissary

**Chapter 5 – Emissary**

**THREE MONTHS LATER – 3047 B.C.E.**

Harry sighed as he stepped back into his private rooms. The Pharaoh had been less than receptive to his suggestion of a second trip to Heliopolis. He supposed he could just apparate there, and it'd only take a few jumps, but he certainly couldn't stay away for more than a few hours without someone noticing.

His first trip, right after his second run-in with Khnurn, he'd scoured the city top to bottom, asking everyone he could about the whereabouts of the man, or whether he'd been seen recently. Chasing down the man to his hometown had seemed a good idea, but even with the Pharaoh's permission to pursue it he'd effectively wasted several weeks. Though the city was quite pleased to have a representative of the Pharaoh in their midst, even their considerable resources had been unable to locate the man. He hadn't picked up a scrap of information, not even the slightest hint. Khnurn had vanished off the face of the planet, and the trail was now so cold that it would be impossible to pick back up.

The man was an enigma, still. In recent weeks, though, he'd come to an uncomfortable conclusion. Not only was he the only one he'd seen who was even remotely out of place, like himself, but he then vanished as if by magic. What if it was just that? As a wizard he could evade Harry as long as he wanted. He had no easy way of tracking someone through apparition after all.

A second discovery that he'd made had sent him for a loop as well. Unlike Per-Bastet, the capital had shrines for all the gods that the Egyptians worshipped, somewhere, and there was one that he'd stumbled upon completely by accident, and he hadn't been able to shake the connection. The god Khnum, depicted as a man with a ram's head sitting behind a potter's wheel. The statue had seemed almost to smile at him from its shrine, and Harry had almost fallen over when one of the priests had described him as the 'Divine Potter' of all things. He would've forgotten even that if not for something else. At the feet of the statue, staring at him with its eerie eyes, had been a black cat.

After his visit to Heliopolis he'd tried at length to get another chance, hoping that with his new-found information he might make a better chance of finding the man. He'd tried all the spells he remembered from Hogwarts that might be remotely relevant, but without any success.

He'd ended up admitting to himself that he wasn't going to find the man if he didn't want to be found, since he was far too slippery. He'd tried to get rid of his annoyance by focusing on his work. He liked the diplomacy and resource-management more than he'd anticipated, mostly because the people tended not to bicker too much about what he came up with. He'd also doubled down on studying magic. He'd never really done so at Hogwarts, seeing as most things were already available in books, but toying with spells was intriguing. He could see why Snape had started making his own, or why Dumbledore might have begun making his own little inventions, like the Deluminator. Perhaps he could replicate such things himself, if he tried long enough.

That said, he'd not gotten terribly far. He had no books to go by, so he had to rely on trial and error and he'd had to write down his own notes. Though his chicken-scratches on crude papyrus were hard to decipher even for him, they were helpful enough to keep track of what he'd already learned, and he was confident that nobody in the palace had any way to figure out what it said. Most didn't even know the hieroglyphic language, much less a foreign one.

Jotting down a list of all the spells he knew had been the first thing he did, and it was with some surprise that he'd ended up with page after page scribbled full of incantations and crude descriptions. Several years of Hogwarts combined with quite a bit of private research for the DA and his upcoming Auror education had left him with more than he'd anticipated. On the other hand, most of it wouldn't be terribly helpful. He could hold off Muggles easily enough, and a lot of the prank hexes and minor charms had rather limited applications. For example, he was uncertain why he'd need to transfigure a vole into a mole rat, ever.

Atop his desk stood a broken pot, looking decidedly battered. Although he'd stopped trying his Portkeys for now since they had a tendency to land in the nastiest of places, he figured he could still use them to figure out other things. For example, what exactly did one need to focus on while casting the spell? He'd succeeded once with only a vague idea of where he was going, while his deliberate attempt to replicate that effect had smashed him into a wall, hundreds of miles from his target. He was doing something wrong, and he'd figure out what.

"Hard at work?"

Harry turned, smiling. "My Queen." He bowed slightly, though she'd told him off often enough that he didn't need to do that in private. "What brings you here? Not to foist another one of your acquisitions on me, I hope?"

"No, no, none yet," the Queen said, smiling thinly. "I was merely wondering if you were well." She glanced over the piles of objects that littered the room with a curious expression. Harry had made some basic shelves by sticking some blocks of stone to the wall and neatly cutting them into shape. It was a little crude, but the place was beginning to look remarkably like Headmaster Dumbledore's old office. Dozens of little knick-knacks and failed experiments littered the shelves, while others were covered with dozens of unorganized piles of papyrus, his notes. The Queen stepped closer, picking up one of the small jeweled amulets. "I understand that you had another disagreement with my husband?"

"The same reasons, again," Harry grumbled, running a hand through his hair. "He seems unwilling to leave me out of his sight for very long. I wonder if he believes I will simply vanish, never to return?"

"I would not say that so strongly," the Queen said, smiling knowingly. "He does not wish you to waste the time that you have, and I agree that your search for this unknown man might be ineffectual. This is the reason that I argue in favour of giving you more responsibility." She winked as Harry blanched. "Oh, do not worry too much. I merely suggested that your attempts to track down this man were symptoms of feeling cooped up in the palace. It is why my husband was short with you, I suspect. He does not like being contradicted, even by myself."

"What did you tell him?" Harry asked, blinking. "How am I cooped up?"

"In the coming year there will be a festival in Heliopolis," the Queen said after a while, ignoring the question. "I have made sure that you are able to attend, in place of one of our representatives that would normally do so. The Pharaoh has other obligations at that time. To make this plausible, though, you will be required to similarly represent the palace separately, so that the priests of Heliopolis do not believe we are merely doing this to be rid of you."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, shaking his head. "What do you want me to do?"

"There has been some trouble with a collection of city-states to the north, going by the name of Ka-na-na," The Queen said. "Djer has had contact with emissaries of late, as you have doubtlessly noted, and they have asked for a visit by the ruling class of Egypt so that diplomatic agreements can be made." She frowned. "There are several among their number who are well-versed in the Egyptian language, so that shan't be a barrier. What is more worrying, though, is the tales that abound about this civilization. Some claims are made that their priests who worship foreign gods, gods of blood and soul, are capable of great wonders. It is said that they conjure mighty lances of flame, storms from a clear sky, that they impart death with a single word."

Harry's eyes widened. That had to be magic. "What do you want me to do?"

"An invasion of this 'Ka-na-na' may be inevitable, but peaceful alternatives would allow for more stability at our borders," the Queen said after a while. "Making such diplomatic contacts with a culture that is different form our own might prove difficult, since we only have some trade agreements, and no more. We cannot afford to show weakness, lest the inhabitants descend upon us like a swarm of locusts. Neither can we arrive with a great military, as they might see it as a deliberate precursor to an assault."

"You want to send me," Harry concluded.

"There is none alive who more exemplifies the blessings upon our land," The Queen agreed, smiling knowingly. "My husband agrees that it would be best if you and a small contingent of others travel to these people and make contact. Should the stories about their mighty conjurers be true, then you are the finest we can send to show our own prowess. I expected that you would appreciate this chance, coupled with the opportunity to pursue your personal goals after your return."

"So be it." Harry nodded, shrugging.

"I will inform Djer that you agreed." The Queen smiled, putting down the little sculpture that she'd picked from his shelf. "Perhaps you will find what you are looking for."

* * *

"Kneel."

"Please, don't do this!" The dark-haired youth exclaimed, flinching away from the imposing figure before him. "I shall not do it again, I swear!"

"There is only one punishment for thieves, boy." The man barked, narrowing his eyes. "Perhaps your pathetic gods of fertility and flowers might have given you reprieve, but they are not present, are they?"

"Please," The boy whimpered, trying to ignore the wounds across his back, where the man had used his vicious whip so harshly that it would doubtlessly scar. That is, if the wounds ever got that chance. The boy retreated into a corner of the room, swallowing thickly. "Please, I don't want this."

The man stepped forward, grasping the boy by his hair and dragging him upright. Whimpering and sobbing he managed to keep himself from tipping over and his torturer prodded him in the side where two broken ribs made his breathing difficult. "What's your name, worm?"

The boy cowered as if hit. "It's Mot."

"Mot. I suppose a disgustingly mundane name like that suits you," the man muttered. "Stealing food from the tables of your betters in a city such as this? Surely you realized that no mercy would be shown?"

The boy winced. "Please, c-can I return to my mother?" He ducked away, hoping that he wouldn't be hit again. His head was still ringing from last time. "Just one time?"

The man sighed, stepping forward. A hint of compassion momentarily entered his eyes, and it seemed like he wanted to say something less threatening. Then he grasped his whip tightly, and his expression turned stony.

Nobody in the streets even responded to the anguished cries.

* * *

**ONE WEEK LATER – 3047 B.C.E.**

Harry walked back through the streets of Tjenu with a small smile, giving friendly nods to several craftsmen that he'd interacted with before he became an advisor. He'd only been gone for two days, but every time he ran some errand, people would wonder what he was up to. Tales of his exploits, mundane as they were, tended to be exaggerated over time. Unfortunately, denying that they were true would only make people believe the stories all the more closely.

Quite a few people bowed or cast down their eyes and Harry ignored the twinge of discomfort at the sight. He'd had to squash his tendency to speak to everyone as equals, since that was a decidedly alien idea in his time. Though he would like to introduce the idea in due time, right now the people needed stability and he couldn't really do so. The people were generally not bothered by being in such a layered society aside from the very lowest, since they didn't know any different. Harry had no real idea how to end their misery, beyond making sure that they were well-fed and healthy; he'd hardly start a revolution.

Most days, his occupation as Pharaoh Djer's court wizard was quite mundane. He used his magic often enough in the confines of the palace or for the Pharaoh's benefit, and it seemed almost like he was back at the Weasley residence, where he was mostly just making things easier with his particular talents. Whenever he was out here he saw the bigger picture, the many things that he could perhaps help change while he was here, particularly with his position. Granted, he could use a better understanding of how to use his magic since his current repertoire was limited, but he was certain he could do it. Perhaps, in due time, he could turn this humdrum civilization into something a little more modern.

Occasionally he still worried about changing things. He'd been here for _years_, and he'd altered quite a few things. He'd even started to think of Egypt as his home now, sort of. He frequently wondered what everyone back home was up to, how they'd dealt with his disappearance. Then he remembered that they hadn't been born yet, and he wasn't sure if that was a relief or not. The thought of his life just before he'd left made him wonder what he'd been thinking. He'd been uninterested in much more than just getting on with his life after the War, and he'd never really considered doing anything he did now. Making jewellery, experimenting with magic, politics, would he ever have discovered such things if not for his return?

Sighing, Harry kicked away a rock and sent it skipping across the ground. It was no use thinking of the future, if he wasn't going back there. His friends might miss him, but it was unlikely they'd ever find out what happened. Maybe he could leave a message for them, somehow, that they'd find in a few thousand years. Perhaps he could make sure they knew that he'd survived, that he hadn't died out there in the Egyptian sands. Hopefully Bill wouldn't feel too terrible about losing him in that pyramid. Hopefully Ginny would find someone else to be with.

"Heru!"

Harry blinked, glancing around. There weren't very many people carrying that name for obvious reasons, so who had called him? He narrowed his eyes as he realized a short woman with numerous necklaces was hurrying over towards him, smiling broadly.

"Heru, it is you!" she yelled again, stopping in front of him. She smiled as she looked down at herself. "I do not look _that _different, do I?"

Harry gasped. Her hair was neatly tied together in an elaborate style that reminded him of a Noblewoman's, and she was wearing some kind of light makeup, but it was most definitely her under all that. Around her neck was a beautiful sash decorated with golden-red feathers that he instantly recognized. "Ahaneith!"

"It has been far too long," she said, nodding enthusiastically. "Come! Nebit will want to see you again. I can scarcely believe all that has happened."

"What?" Harry asked, baffled, as he quickly walked after her, glancing around nervously. He was attracting quite a bit of attention. "Why are you dressed like that? You could pass for a noblewoman!"

Ahaneith nodded, smiling broadly. "You must truly have gained great favour here, Heru! The Queen of Egypt sent one of her servants to tend to my appearance," she answered, her eyes wide. "Nebit and I arrived yesterday, hoping to meet with you. When we found out that you were absent we intended to find a sleeping place in the city, but the Queen approached us, commoners as we are, and insisted that we follow her!"

Harry rubbed his eyes, realizing where this was going. "You told her that we were close, didn't you?" he asked tiredly.

At her hesitant nod, Harry groaned. "I should've guessed that something like that would happen," he said. "I suppose she's already arranged a room, told you where to get food, and sent half a dozen people to tend to your needs?"

"…How do you know that?"

Harry rubbed the back of his head, smiling sheepishly. "A hunch."

Twice now Harry had found himself face to face with a woman he'd never met before that had apparently moved right into his part of the palace. The Queen had decided, given the fact that he was past twenty and still unwed, that she'd find a wife for him. Unfortunately she didn't exactly take into account his own preferences, since she was well aware he wasn't the type to go out and find someone himself. Thus, she'd taken a more proactive approach.

The first time Harry had been rather irate about the whole thing, particularly since the woman the Queen had picked was from a noble family and rather uninterested in even speaking to her prospective husband. After he'd found her rifling through his writings and gemstones not once but twice he'd rather rudely showed her to the door, his patience exhausted.

The second girl that the Queen had sent his way turned out to be a much nicer person. She was the daughter of a commoner and a Noble, and friendly to a fault. She and Harry had effectively become close neighbours after a while and she'd occasionally sat in on his experiments, but whatever spark the Queen had hoped to see hadn't been there. Ultimately she'd moved out when she and a commoner bricklayer got together, and Harry had every intention of attending their marriage ceremony.

This, then, was her third attempt. Harry realized that he'd probably brought up Ahaneith and his time in Per-Bastet a little more than he ought to have. He couldn't really talk about anything before that, since it was all distant future stuff that would mean nothing to her, and she'd drawn her own conclusions. He hoped that she wouldn't make things any more embarrassing than this. Who would've expected that the biggest risk in becoming the Pharaoh's advisor was attracting his wife's attention?

"Heru? You seem distracted."

"Ah, just reminiscing," Harry admitted, shrugging. "So, what brought you to Tjenu? I'm sure that you hadn't anticipated the Queen's… unique character."

Ahaneith laughed softly. "No, it was nothing so dramatic. When you passed by Per-Bastet a few months ago, I heard that you attempted to reach us at our place. We were out in the wilds at that time, though, and we felt bad about missing a visit. Nebit decided that we should return the favour. The first workers from the city arrived a short while ago to begin work on the temple, so our departure was not really noticed, I believe."

"So, here you are," Harry said, smiling. "I might have a jewellery business that you might be interested in continuing, you know. I remember that you rather enjoyed that, and if you continue under my name, I believe you could certainly be successful…"

"Truly?" Ahaneith smiled, nodding contentedly. "Yes, I believe that may be what I will do. Perhaps Nebit could find work as a guard here. He has some experience now in keeping bandits from ransacking Per-Bastet, you know. He has taken four so far, in fact!"

Harry smiled hesitantly, not sure if one should be complimented for killing four people. Still, he supposed that it was to be expected in times like these. The kind of brutality he'd already seen had become almost too normal, though he supposed it was quite humane compared to what he remembered from History of Magic. Whether that meant Muggles were more reasonable in punishments or wizards were simply more effective at it he didn't know.

"There is something that I wanted to show you, from our last trip into the wilds." Ahaneith took her sash and thumbed one of the long feathers attached to it. "We found them, you know. We found the Bennu, right where you once spoke with them. Nebit decided to go back there to show me their amazing colours, and one of them ate from his hand, completely unafraid. It was astounding!"

"Phoenixes can probably sense your intention," Harry said, shrugging. "They're intelligent enough to know who to trust. Nebit respects them, so they respect him back. I take it they left you those feathers there?"

"They did," Ahaneith agreed, smiling. "The tree in which they lived held many of them, and the Bennu let us take them. I decided that they should only be used for important times, though Nebit insisted on making this." She ran a hand over the sash and smiled. "He believes that it will bring good tidings in the future."

"I'm sure it will," Harry agreed, sighing contentedly. "It's good to have you here. I know plenty of people at the palace, but they tend to be a bit stiff. Per-Bastet is boring compared to what happens here on a daily basis, but I do miss talking to people who aren't either my superiors or scared of even slightly disrespecting me. Comes with the position, I suppose."

"Well, you won't get that with me," Ahaneith said, winking. "I'm sure I can grovel a bit if you want to, though."

Harry coloured, trying not to make a rather crude remark. "We should head to see the Queen, then. I want to know what plans she has spun now. Sometimes I truly wonder if the Pharaoh is in charge of the palace or she is." He shook his head and smiled. "First, though, I should go past an old friend."

Harry didn't even notice that they walked into the palace hand-in-hand. The Queen certainly did.

* * *

"This is your _friend?"_

Harry shrugged helplessly, grabbing the tail of a dead rat between the fingers and dangling it into the room. Excited hissing could be heard from the darkness, and Harry grabbed his wand, quickly conjuring a little ball of light. The three bobbing heads of the Pharaoh's Runespoor slid into view. Harry turned to Ahaneith with a smile. "He's got nobody else around here. I figured I could take care of his welfare a little."

The Runespoor's three heads rose up from the ground, both of the heads on the side focused on the dead rat while the middle weaved back and forth to an unheard rhythm. Ahaneith had gone completely still, and Harry smiled encouragingly at her, hoping that she'd understand things were safe.

"He is the Pharaoh's serpent," Harry explained, finally throwing the rat into the room. Before it even hit the ground it was snatched up by the middle head that suddenly interrupted its dance for a single big gulp. The two heads on the side hissed at the Dreamer in irritation, though it did not care in the slightest. Harry wondered if it even mattered which head ate, given that they all shared a body. He shook his head as the snake slid back into the shadows, convinced that the long hiss at the end was its word for 'thanks'. It was odd knowing that snakes had their own language, and no longer being able to understand it.

"Why does it live here, in its own room?" Ahaneith wondered. "Does it not bite anyone?"

"Actually, when I first came here it was perpetually locked in a little box maybe twice its size. I argued with the Pharaoh that it really should have a larger place to roam in." Harry wisely didn't tell her how he'd found that out. "I was sure that the box would inevitably get so small for the snake that it would not be content to stay within it. Nobody dared handle the creature, though, so I was the one that ultimately made this happen." He tapped the side of the door proudly. "I placed an enchantment on the door that should prevent any living thing from going inside except for me. It keeps the Runespoor in too, unless I'm there to release it. If you stick out your hand you should notice that."

Ahaneith carefully tried to reach into the room, wary of the snake that was looking at them interestedly, and her hand stopped in mid-air as if encountering a wall. She brushed her hand across the invisible barrier in wonder.

"It's a variation on a spell I once needed while camping," Harry admitted. "That one was meant to keep out anything with bad intentions, but the principle by which it worked is pretty general. Someone persistent enough could break through this one, I'm sure, but I figure that it'll keep idiots out. Anyone who forces their way inside is just asking to get bitten."

"Amazing," Ahaneith said, looking at the Runespoor curiously. Apparently, knowing that it was safely behind Harry's spell had calmed her nerves. "I have never heard of such a creature in all of Egypt either!"

"It comes from the far south, actually. Somewhere within a few days' walking distance of the border with Egypt, I believe. I'm pretty sure he was bought from a local merchant as a fresh hatchling, and he has been in essentially voluntary captivity ever since. He could've broken out often enough but didn't, content to mooch off the humans who fed him and kept him clean."

"You know so much. It is as if you can speak to it." Ahaneith smiled. "I would not be surprised if you could."

Harry smiled sadly, glancing at the Runespoor. "In a way, I suppose I would like that too. Perhaps I'll decipher the language, someday. I'm sure it can be done."

"Decipher the language of the serpent?" Ahaneith smiled, shaking her head. "You deny a connection to the gods, but every time you speak of your pursuits I am reminded of them. You correspond with the mighty birds of the Sun God, and now with the creatures of Wadjet, Protector of Egypt!"

Harry shook his head, trailing his hand over the rough stone of the doorway. Several hieroglyphics had been carved into the side, though they didn't actually do anything. As far as he knew, they were essentially a warning to trespassers, declaring the room guarded by the power of Heru. Harry wasn't sure if the little falcon was signifying the god or himself, but it didn't really matter. He turned to Ahaneith with a sad smile. "The Phoenix and the Runespoor here are like me. In that way you are correct. They are my closest kin, in a way."

"Kin to the sacred animals, are you?" Ahaneith turned, away, smiling. "How long will you continue to deny your connection to the divine, Heru? There is humility in your refusal of such honour, but certainly among friends you can let this slip a little?"

Harry just shook his head, smiling.

* * *

"You're _kidding_ me."

Ahaneith giggled softly, though she forced herself to keep them in with only mild success. "I believe that the Queen is, as you say, determined in her pursuits."

Harry rubbed his head tiredly as he observed the damage. His bedroom, one that he'd had to himself for ages now, had suddenly been filled with all sorts of things that were definitely not his own. Right next to his bed were a large pile of Ahaneith's clothes and various odds and ends cluttered the place. Indeed, the bed itself had gained a second pillow.

"So, where will I sleep?" he asked after a while, shaking his head in amusement.

Ahaneith chuckled. "You are not so naïve, Heru." She pressed down on the mattress that Harry had transfigured from the rather lumpy excuse for one that it'd been delivered with. Harry wasn't sure, but it might well be a better bed than the Pharaoh's at this point. He did like his comforts. Ahaneith seemed to notice the quality as well as she turned to Harry in surprise. "This is very soft!"

"I made the mattress myself," Harry admitted, colouring. He knew full well what the Queen was doing here. The Pharaoh was busy all the time, and didn't concern himself terribly with what Harry did privately. The Queen didn't have as much restraint. "I bet she's laughing herself silly over this."

Ahaneith sat down on the edge of the bed as she pulled off several of her necklaces and dropped them on Harry's bedside table, in between notes on Portkey creation and a rather deformed stone replica of a Phoenix. That had been one of his attempts to recreate the permanently burning torches that had made Hogwarts so well-lit at night by glowing with a soft light. It had melted rather quickly when Harry realized he'd forgotten about the heat aspect.

"The bed is large enough for two," Ahaneith said, winking. "I'm sure she didn't mean to insult you, Heru. I imagine that she doesn't have any children of her own that are of marriageable age, and this is an amusing diversion."

"It's not that," Harry said with a sigh, rubbing his forehead. "The Queen can do what she wants. She can be a bit overbearing, but I guess that's what you get, being Djer's wife. I was wondering what was wrong with the perfectly fine room down the hall that the last two women used?"

Ahaneith shrugged. "Nebit's sleeping there, of course. He'll probably have the whole thing filled with his tools and weapons before the night is out. No room for two people anymore." She smiled teasingly as she glanced back at the bed. "Ah, come on now Heru. Certainly you can see the humour in this?"

"That doesn't mean I have to like it," Harry said, deciding that he'd have to bear the Queen's whims, for now. He walked over to his bed, taking out his wand. "Well, if this is how things are going to be for now, so be it. There's not really enough space for two beds here, but I can at least make things a bit more manageable." With a slight prod the bed jumped to attention, stretching itself until it was almost half again as wide. It groaned as if in protest and Harry viciously prodded it in the mattress. "Keep still, you."

"Why are you talkingto it?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "It's being annoying. That's what you get with conjured objects, sometimes. They get a bit uppity if you don't do it properly. I suppose practice makes perfect, though." He stabbed the bed again and it finally snapped into place. "There we go."

"Only you would have a bed that resents being poked," Ahaneith said, grinning.

Harry nodded distractedly, frowning as he looked at the enlarged bed. "You know, this is going to be a pain to explain to your brother."

Ahaneith smiled, winking. "Come now, Heru, you know what he will say. I distinctly recall that you had that very conversation before."

"Fine, I'll go with it," Harry said. "I'm too tired to make much of a fuss, though I'm sure I can figure out a way to get back at the Queen for this." He glanced at Ahaneith for a moment, smirking. "If you snore I'm shoving you out of the bed."

"You would not dare!"

* * *

"Get up, Mot."

Mot rubbed his eyes tiredly, slowly wobbling to his feet. He hadn't been fed in two days, and it was beginning to show: he was listless, his muscles felt like jelly, his mind was foggy. He tried for a long moment to identify who had spoken, failing miserably. He slowly turned to go back to his cot. Straw on stone, not very comfortable.

"Mot, pay attention!" The tall man shook his head, slapping the boy roughly around the ears. A spatter of blood dotted the wall as the boy cried out in pain; the sharp ring that the man wore had cut a neat gash into the boy's ear.

"Wh-what is it?" Mot shivered, even in the heat. "Is it time?"

"Not yet," the man said, and he sounded almost sorry. "They wish you to suffer before you meet your true punishment, I believe. Two moons, perhaps three. No more."

Mot sighed miserably. "Can I have a piece of bread, please? I'm so h-hungry."

"I will bring you soup, tomorrow." He shook his head. "I have convinced them that lashing you would only kill you, now. The last of the wound rot could only barely be stopped, and your execution is to be a spectacle."

"All that for a thief," Mot muttered, rubbing his forehead tiredly. "Why? The punishment is death, I know that. Why this torture? Do they not trust the gods to tend to my punishment themselves?"

The man smiled thinly. "You speak of them often; I suppose there is some honour in that. I'm afraid that here there are few who share such beliefs here. The Egyptian influence is not yet so great."

"I have spoken to Anubis himself," the boy said sharply. "Your beliefs in non-existent beings will not sway me. If I have done wrong, let those who exist judge me, not my captors!"He trembled, thinking that saying something like that when he barely understood what it meant was probably a bad idea.

The man's expression turned from almost conciliatory to furious in an instant. "I will not hear such blasphemies from your mouth again!" He frowned as he retrieved a length of wood. "There will be no wounds, this time."

Mot shrank back, hoping dearly that it would all be over soon.

* * *

**THREE WEEKS LATER – 3047 B.C.E. **

"_Half a year?"_ Harry glared in annoyance. "I can't just leave for that long!"

The Pharaoh merely raised an eyebrow. "I was informed that you had already agreed."

Harry frowned, thinking back to his meeting with the Queen, weeks before. He'd considered the task that the Queen had referred to so that he could reasonably stand in for the Pharaoh at a celebration such as that in Heliopolis, but he's mostly forgotten about it since. Other things had caught his attention, not the least of which was the return of some of his closest friends, and he'd gotten quite engrossed in his research. "I figured it would take a month or two," Harry said at last, slumping in his seat. "I can't just skip out of town for months on end and then reappear! Nobody would take me seriously as an advisor, I would think. Besides, I can do little from the other side of the country, much less from outside it!"

"It is more than eight weeks of travel," the Pharaoh pointed out. "Perhaps it could take considerably more time considering the distance that must be traversed. Surely you had not assumed that a diplomatic excursion would be a quick walk back and forth?"

Harry sighed, frowning. He didn't really mind going to this country. Perhaps he'd even find other wizards. He'd be leaving Ahaneith and Nebit behind again though, both of whom were tolerated only for their connection to him. Certainly the servants and most of the nobles didn't much appreciate the presence of commoners. They had trouble enough accepting Harry's position as it was.

"Nakhtneith will look after them," the Pharaoh said after a moment, smiling knowingly.

"Your wife is quite persistent," Harry observed, rolling his eyes. "I suppose she's content with the current arrangement, though."

"She can be quite headstrong," the Pharaoh agreed. He straightened. "Do you accept this task, advisor? It is possible that you will return sooner than the end of the dry season, but it is unlikely. If you cannot tolerate such a long absence, I will have to find an alternative."

"I'll do it," Harry said at last.

"Good." The man sipped from his cup. "I expect that you will represent our country well. If these foreigners have the great power that they're purported to have, I hope that you will prevent it from reaching our shores?"

Harry nodded distractedly. Although he knew little of ancient Wizarding history, he was pretty sure that the vast majority of the spells he knew hadn't been invented yet, which would make him rather a match for any wizard he might come across. At worst they'd simply have no idea of each other's spells, and he did have a pretty good track record of getting through a conflict or two.

This, Harry realized, was where he'd first leave Egypt since he arrived. Leave the relative safety of a world that he'd made his own in favour of some strange other culture, probably as primitive as this one, if not more so. A few years ago he would've jumped at the chance. Even a few months ago he would've had no reservations. Now, though, things were different.

"I will do what is in my power, and hurry back."

* * *

Harry trudged into his workroom, dropping his jewellery haphazardly on a shelf. He stepped into his bedroom and dropped his wand on a small shelf near the door, where he had easy access to it. That particular shelf he'd enchanted with a Muggle-Repelling charm; even if someone were to break in here in the middle of the night, they would have no idea where he kept his weapon. He would've considered keeping it under a pillow or something similar, but he heard too many horror-stories in the past. With only one wand available to him, he couldn't risk breaking it.

"So, what did the Pharaoh say?"

Harry jumped slightly, shaking his head at the reaction. Sleeping perfectly alone for a few years had made him rather jumpy at sounds in the night, and he hadn't gotten used to having someone sleep so close. Granted, it wasn't the first time he'd shared a room with other people, but it was the first time he'd shared a bed.

"He really wants me to go. He's already made all the arrangements for tomorrow," Harry answered, sighing. "Six months, probably more." He yawned loudly as he walked over to his cupboard. Three half-formed pairs of glasses lay on top. None of them were good enough to actually wear, but he was getting somewhere, slowly. The things were at least no longer exploding the instant he made them, which set his mind at ease a little. He'd rather not have one of them go off while he was wearing them after all. He wondered what Professor McGonagall would've said about his rather dreadful attempts.

"Half a year is not so bad," Ahaneith commented, raising herself up from the bed. She looked challengingly at Harry as she brushed her hair aside, and Harry had to force himself not to blush or look away. Admittedly, the latter was not hard. "I would be worried if it were Nebit, because I know that he would risk dying by the sword. You will not suffer such a fate, I believe." She smiled.

Harry sighed. "It's just that you've been here for only three weeks, and now I'm the one who's leaving. I feel like a terrible host."

"Eh, you let me sleep in this bed when you know full well that you could have gone against the Queen," Ahaneith said, smirking. "I do not think you could be much more hospitable."

Harry shook his head, dropping his clothes in a disorganized pile next to the bed and quickly jumping in. Ahaneith looked on in amusement as he wormed himself under the blankets. "You know as well as I do that the Queen would have someone else in here by the end of the month."

"Still so insecure, Heru?" Ahaneith wondered, smiling thinly as Harry hugged the blanket. "Your culture must truly be uncomfortable with the body."

Harry sighed, giving up on covering himself. "Well, I suppose you're right. I had trouble enough getting used to all the people on the street going around with barely a loincloth. Someone back home would probably have frozen to death doing that in this time of year."

Ahaneith smiled. "It's cute, really. Most of the men here would be all too eager to show off. If you've ever seen Nebit in one of those moods you know what I mean."

Harry laughed softly. "I suppose I do know." He relaxed into his pillow. "Egypt can be very weird, even after years here."

Ahaneith nodded, smiling. "So, off on a valiant excursion for the Pharaoh?" She smiled deviously. "I suppose you'll be on your own, then. Maybe you'll miss me?"

Harry blinked as Ahaneith scooted closer. "What are you doing?"

"Shhh..."

Harry swallowed thickly.

* * *

"Is everyone here?" Harry asked, glancing over the half-dozen soldiers that were gathered near the gates. Several of them were carrying what appeared to be some kind of yoke with two bags on each side, filled with all sorts of goods and food. Harry frowned, shaking his head. He'd gotten down to the capital without much in the way of provisions, mostly because he could get some more easily enough. Travelling long distances was different, he supposed.

"I believe there is one more who will be joining us, advisor." The man who'd spoken smiled cheerily. Harry realized suddenly that the man seemed awfully familiar, and he grinned in recognition.

"So, they did let you come along, Sam? I'd wondered whether or not that request ever got through." Harry shook his head in amusement. "It's been a while."

"That it has," Sam agreed. "I am most honoured that you thought of me. I had not imagined that you would remember someone like me. Your sudden rise to such a high position truly did astound me, I admit. I scarcely believed it when I heard!"

"I know, I know." Harry raised an eyebrow as he glanced over the rest of the soldiers. "Are you familiar with the others, by any chance?"

"Of course," Sam replied, looking slightly affronted. "I hand-picked them myself, if you must know. Each has seen at least one battle and all have served throughout Egypt. They will be ready should violence become necessary."

"Let's hope not," Harry muttered. "This is a rather small group, isn't it?"

"There are enough here to suit our needs," a rather high-pitched voice said behind Harry and he slowly turned. A grey-haired and rather rickety-looking priest stood before him, carrying a small pile of papyrus under his arm and a decidedly gaudy locket around his neck, though Harry couldn't complain given his own golden collar. Harry narrowed his eyes at the jewelled object, thankfully noting that it was decidedly different from the last locket he remembered.

The man squinted at Harry and frowned. "So, you are the one that the palace sent, then?"

Harry nodded, trying a smile. The other man scoffed and glanced over the soldiers with an appreciative eye. "I suppose their martial prowess will make up for your unimpressive stature."

"I beg your pardon?" Harry blinked as the man simply waved him off. Considering how the temple of Heru had tried so desperately to get back in his good graces, he hadn't expected such a casual dismissive reaction. "I do have some suggest-"

"Be silent," the priest snapped, gesturing out the gate. "Let us be off. There are many hours yet left in the day, and I would not spend them dilly-dallying. Transportation and supplies are waiting a good day's walk away."

Harry followed the man with a bemused expression, looking over his shoulder a last time. Ahaneith and Nebit would be fine, he was sure. They'd keep their rooms at the palace if the Queen had anything to say about it. They had decided not to come see him off: apparently they thought it would bring bad luck. He wondered whether that was really a local custom, but dismissed the thought. They'd still be here when he got back and he could always bring it up then.

"Do hurry up!" The old man said, and Harry sighed in annoyance as he quickly caught up. It seemed that he'd ended up with the only priest in all of Egypt that actually sounded like Filch.

"What should I call you, priest of Heru?" Harry asked curiously as he surreptitiously slipped his wand into his hand. He could subtly lighten the load of the soldiers when they weren't paying attention. He was so invested in his silent spell casting that he almost missed the haughty priest's answer.

"Wosret," he replied, and then looked at Harry with narrowed eyes. "You are that upstart that's got all the palace upset. There have been many tales concerning the elusive advisor who channels the spirit of Heru himself."

"I don't know about that," Harry said, shrugging. "The Pharaoh himself offered me the position of advisor, and I was not about to disappoint him. Whether or not you consider me worthy is hardly up to you." He smirked. "I dare say I am, though. The recent trade agreements with the south were mostly my doing, after all."

Wosret sniffed, shaking his head. "The temple has been a truly deplorable place to be for several months, you are aware? Three priests decided to leave Tjenu. _Three_. All because they believed they had committed a grievous offense. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that their anguish was over _you._"He glared at Harry. "I argued that they were fools, but they wouldn't accept the criticism."

"I had nothing to do with that," Harry argued. "The first day I came to town, well, I didn't make a good impression, I suppose. It took quite a long time before the Pharaoh took notice, so I could hardly blame the priesthood for denying a foreigner."

The man's expression softened a little as he nodded. He glanced at the soldiers speculatively. "I am certain we shall talk of it again. We should think of our travels, now. Camels shall be ready to take us and our supplies further down the Nile, though it is a solid day's walk before we reach the town that they have been moved to. When we come to the eastern reaches it will be only a relatively short trip to reach our destination."

Harry nodded. "Well, what are we waiting for? We have miles to tread, destinations to reach." Harry fell in lock-step with the soldiers and it wasn't long before his thoughts wandered off as their procession departed down the long road to the north. He realized that he wouldn't get much time to experiment with spells. Well, at least he could use the time penning down some new ideas, since he could probably duplicate some of Wosret's papyrus.

He raised his hand a last time towards the walls of the city that were quickly vanishing in the distance. He doubted that Ahaneith or Nebit would see it, but it didn't matter. In six months he'd see them again. Hopefully he could pick right back up where he left off.

He'd miss her, especially.

* * *

**TWO MONTHS LATER – 3047 B.C.E.**

"Stand."

Mot got up without a protest, hanging his head low. He'd learned not to contradict his captors, or they'd just cause him pain until he did. He didn't know the name of the man that tormented him, of the man who seemed to pity him and hate him at the same time. He wiped his long hair out of his eyes, wondering if he could have cut it somehow. Unfortunately sharp implements were kept far away from him.

"It is time?"

"I'm afraid so," the man said, nodding morosely. "There is talk of a foreign emissary coming to the city from a powerful country, and the priests wish to have your punishment done with before they arrive."

Mot didn't have to think long about what that implied. "Egyptians," he surmised. For a moment he felt hope flutter in his stomach. "They've come, at last."

The man frowned, shaking his head. "They do not know you're here. To their mind, all were killed. They certainly do not know of any surviving outside their own borders."

Mot slumped a little, but he refused to budge. "C-Can you?" He gestured to his wrists. "Please?"

"Free you? No." The man shook his head, seeming ashamed. "They would have my own head if I were any more lenient than I am. Many others would have taken great joy in torturing you for information about your heritage. I know that you were too young to remember much, and that is all that has kept me as civil as I have been."

Mot scowled. The burning lashes on his back were testament to the fact that the man's word was worthless. Barely two weeks after the whip had been replaced by a broader length of wood it had been switched out for the nastier weapon once more. The temple had been unhappy with his relatively health and insisted that the punishment became harsher once more. Mot wondered sometimes if his pain would ever end at all.

Now there was a ray of hope. His own people, Egyptian people, were coming. Considering the way his tormentor talked about them, they had to be important. The Pharaoh himself, perhaps? He could not die so close to salvation. It could not end here. Not today.

"Come," the man said, stepping towards him with his hand outstretched. For a brief moment Mot utterly panicked. He was only eleven, this wasn't right. He couldn't let it end like this! He kicked out with all his might as the man came near, scrabbling desperately upright to get away from the man who pulled out a vicious-looking knife. "Vicious urchin!" he snarled. Mot backed against the wall as the man stabbed towards him with him, though it stopped in mid-air as a gurgling sound interrupted the enraged snarl.

Everything was still. The man stood before him with wide-open eyes, one hand grabbing at his throat, and blood dripped from in between his fingers. His blade fell out of limp fingers. Very slowly he toppled to the ground. Blood gushed out on the floor, streaming into the dust.

Mot stared in horror, shivering. His hand wouldn't start shaking as he got up. Very slowly his gaze moved from the quickly cooling body to the wide open door.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Cheers for the return of Ahaneith and Nebit, Harry getting his ass moving, and Mot! Ka-na-na is based on the proto-Canaanite civilization that formed in the region northeast of Egypt. This is related to the biblical Canaan, but not by much.

The fact that the Queen got quite a bit more screen time than I'd expected just happened without intending it. I wanted her to be a bit of a busybody that, compared to her husband, had time to interfere with people who worked at the palace. The fact that she dominated several scenes is because she also ended up responsible for allowing Harry more time to do his own thing. The Pharaoh is in here but plays a relatively minor role until Harry's return. Yes, Ahaneith and Nebit moving to Tjenu actually has a purpose, even if Harry's off on his wanderings again.

I had intended to include Mot in the next chapter, but I felt that telling some basics here was appropriate, and I'm sure some can guess that he and Harry will meet soon enough. That said, perhaps some can already hypothesize why he is important. ;)

Next chapter has Harry's arrival in the future Canaan, the clash of two religions as their representatives meet, and a small boy's fate hangs by a thread. Perhaps the greater problem, though, is not taking place where Harry is...


	6. The Boy

**Chapter 6 - The Boy**

"Why are you still up at this hour?"

Sam looked up blearily, leaning on his spear rather heavily. He grinned in recognition. "Heru! Is that not a question you should be answering? It is my night to keep watch, after all, and I am sure we will require your assistance in the morning."

Harry shrugged. "I put protections around the entire campsite, so nobody gets in here without my knowledge. There really is no _need _to have a night watch with me around. You should go catch a few hours of sleep yourself. Who knows what we might find in this new city?"

Spending two months on the road with the same small group of people, Harry had finally figured out that on some things, people wouldn't budge. They would not call him by his actual name, they wouldn't raise their voices even when they wanted to, and most of all they were always under the impression that he disliked helping out. He supposed it was unsurprising, given that they usually seemed to think he was a nobleman of some sort, but it had gotten a bit annoying. Sam, at least, spoke to Harry like an equal, and he much appreciated it.

"You know that not having a lookout wouldn't be proper while escorting such highly-placed people in a foreign land," Sam said, raising an eyebrow. "Between yourself and Priest Wosret, it is remarkable that we have so few people here as we do."

"The Pharaoh knows that I am here, that's why," Harry muttered tiredly, transfiguring a rotten old log into a sturdy bench and dropping onto it with a deep sigh. "Come, have a seat."

Sam hesitantly stepped closer, joining him on the long wooden furniture, though he thankfully didn't seem as spooked about magic anymore. Harry had learned not to conjure things that were too out there for the time period – like his bed, back at the palace, or a luxurious fluffy couch – and went with the basics instead. The first time he'd used his spells in the presence of his travel companions, right when they were setting up their first camp and having dinner, three of the soldiers had outright choked on their food while Wosret had studied him with intense eyes, though he'd not commented at all. He hadn't really thought about it – he'd just cooked his meat without the fire. Wosret had refrained from mentioning magic thereafter, and Harry figured that he was probably trying to act as if he'd already known about it.

"You're still uncomfortable about this whole trip, aren't you?" Harry wondered, slipping his wand back in his pocket. "Being on escort duty so far from home is probably a new thing for you."

"I admit, I am uncomfortable with the distance," Sam said softly, staring out over the thinly wooded area with a frown. They were only a short distance away from an arid region that could rival the deserts of Egypt itself, and seeing any trees at all was unusual. Most of them were crooked and rather short, a testament to the poor soil here. Perhaps the city would have better ground, since they needed to grow their plants somewhere. Sam turned back, distractedly plucking at his slight beard; Harry figured he could offer to cut it again, later. A shave without effort or risk of wounds understandably appealed to the soldiers that were along. "Like all of us, I am unfamiliar with this land, and I do not know what dangers there might lie. Beasts, wildmen, perhaps even our hosts may come after us. We are with so few to counter any troubles."

"Well, I'm here," Harry said. "I might only be one guy, but I can take care of a couple bandits if I have to. You know I can, you've seen me practicing often enough..."

Sam nodded. "It is not the attack that we see coming that worries me. What if poison is put into our water, or into our food, even by our very guests here in Ka-na-na? What if an assassin sneaks upon us in the night, so that we may face the judge far sooner than we hope? I shudder to think of what might happen in that case, or what the Pharaoh might do."

"Don't worry too much about it," Harry answered confidently, picking up a thin stick and idly twirling it in his hand, poking into the soil with it. "Tomorrow we'll reach the city, and we will see what we can do there. Perhaps we'll make a treaty, or see what they are like, and then we can return home. It took only eight weeks to get here, it should not take much longer to reach Tjenu." He smiled knowingly. "You will see your wife soon enough."

Sam looked at him with wide eyes. "You know about _that_?"

"Wosret knew, of course," Harry said. As a priest of the temple, he heard a lot of things, and a wedding was a pretty involved affair, even in this time. "If the gods are kind you will have your child in four months, I've heard."

Sam blushed, nodding. "I hope to return before the birth. I believe that the child will be a son, so that he may pick up his father's profession. Perhaps, in time, he will serve as palace guard to the Pharaoh himself, and fulfill the dream of his parents. Perhaps he will serve you, one day."

"I intend to be around to see that," Harry commented, and he only caught himself after a few moments. He ignored the thought of returning back to his own time, to his home, focusing instead on Sam. "Do you remember the messenger that I commanded to travel to Tjenu? I met with him after we reached the first town, before the camels were fully loaded."

"Yes?"

"I sent it back to the capital with a few notes, after I'd heard from Wosret," Harry said. "They're just notes on a few plants that I learned about years ago. Basic stuff, plants that can be found growing in many places, sometimes considered weeds. I saw quite a few of them in the royal garden, actually." He smiled thinly. "I asked the Queen to send someone to your wife with the herbs I picked out, to make a tea with them. It should keep her and the child healthy."

Harry smiled as Sam perked up at the news. He'd done a little more than just dig into his Herbology lessons and identify some Muggle plants that would help. He'd had one of his enchanted necklaces delivered as well, and it was one of his latest, containing a small collection of protective charms he'd been toying with, including one that should, at least once, allow one to walk away from a serious wound. True, Sam was only a casual acquiantance, but he couldn't bear the thought of any of this group coming back home and having lost their family. He knew the number of deaths at childbirth was uncomfortably high especially in this time before antibiotics. Unfortunately, he knew next to nothing about Muggle medicine, and had no clue where to start finding some of those; he had to row with the oars he had. Perhaps, when he got back, he could consider expanding his herbology lessons, since that would be something he could actually mass-produce, by putting the royal gardens to use as something other than a place that looked pretty. He thought the idea of on-demand potions to deal with common diseases was a rather splendid idea.

Harry stared out at the dark silhouettes of trees, thinking about the past few weeks. He'd been doing a lot of magic on this trip, more so than he's honestly expected when he left. Among other things he'd been keeping everyone comfortable by softening their saddles when they travelled on camel-back, by cleaning up the road before they even got to obstructions, and, repairing anything that broke. One thing he'd patched together more times than he could count was Wosret's walking staff that seemingly got stuck in holes every third step. Besides that he'd spent an inordinate amount of time just casting various spells or spell variations while he walked, since talking with the soldiers was next to impossible while they were on the move. They seemed to have a sort of established code that they only lightened up when dinner time came around, and his attempts to get them into conversation had just been met with silence. Wosret spent most of his time pontificating on things that Harry cared rather little about, which meant their discussions were infrequent. He was well-read, that Harry was certain about, but it seemed that the things he read mostly concerned the many, many variations of worship within and around Egypt, a topic that Harry was rather skeptical about for many reasons. It didn't help that he'd been mistaken for a god already, and he rather wanted to avoid furthering that connection.

Training his magic had been something he'd been doing for years now, back in the past, mostly while experimenting with new spells. He'd never really gone for learning combat spells, though, or for figuring out how to use his other spells offensively. Cooped up in Per-Bastet or Tjenu he'd mostly just used spells to make Muggle things easier, or transfigured things that he could use. Surrounded with people without any magic, a single _Stupefy_ would be enough to drop opposition like a sack of sand. Now that he was out here, though, where bandits might lurk around and half a dozen other people were right beside him, simply stunning someone might be impractical as a solution, since other people would quickly get the idea when the first person went down.

Besides all that, he'd gotten a bit nervous about the stories he heard of this nation's conjurers of storms, and of other things that sounded very magical. If there were wizards here, he'd probably meet them soon enough if he didn't keep his own a secret. Unfortunately, he had no idea how to figure out what kind of wizards they were – for all he knew they could be dark wizards – without facing them, and that meant risking a confrontation. Harry wished he'd paid attention in History of Magic, now; the many goblin rebellions aside, he'd never really learned much about ancient Wizarding cultures, and he had no clue where the first ones even appeared, beyond that Egypt was one of the first. Few writings from this early period were preserved at all, which made such studies difficult. Harry supposed he might be the one to find out – just centuries before he could actually pass that information on to the generation that would be interested in it.

Thinking of other wizards had Harry thinking about his skill at magical fighting. He knew well enough that if he did nothing, he might eventually meet someone nasty and end up getting killed; he could use his knowledge as an advantage, though. He knew a lot of spells that hadn't been invented yet, that were snapshots of a future that was yet to be. Those, perhaps, could serve as his aces in the hole.

Hogwarts hadn't really taught magical combat beyond a bit of duelling and a few spells in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Most of that had been taught so ineptly that it wasn't worth the time anyway. The D.A. had been much more helpful in that regard, but since his illegal little study group had mostly been covering fifth-year magic aside from the Patronus charm, it wasn't exactly the most exciting stuff. That left him with the few spells he'd read about but never actually cast, including a few nasty ones that would probably be considered dark magic themselves, mostly because he'd wanted to know what to expect from the more common dark curses and spells. He was going to be an Auror, after all. What he ended up with after going through his combat skills was a hodgepodge of stunning spells, a few ways to make stuff explode, _Expelliarmus_, and tying someone up. There were a few others that he considered but that weren't really that useful; conjuring fire might be occasionally useful, but he doubted he'd ever want to burn someone alive. The problem was, his skill with his spells was not good enough to hit more than one person, which meant he might as well be throwing Stunners and be done with it.

He'd decided on the third day of travel that he'd spend his down-time just playing with his spells, trying to get an actual tactic down. He'd had no luck in trying to stun more than one person at the time, and he didn't want to keep testing it on the poor guards while they were trying to rest up from a day's worth of marching. Bigger explosions were probably possible if he really wanted to, but the blasts had sent everyone scurrying away so quickly that he'd thought twice about testing that again in view of everyone. Disarming more than one person – that's where he'd gotten somewhere, finally. He'd always been a fair shot with _Expelliarmus_, and he did end the fight with Voldemort using that spell. It worked for him here, too. He'd managed to disarm three of the guards with only one charm, and he'd done so repeatedly. A fourth felt his weapon try to rip itself out of his hands, but managed to hold on to it with his fingertips. A week or two later when he'd tried again, using the bits and pieces he'd learned through trial and error, he'd managed to disarm all six, _and _he'd removed Wosret's walking stick as well, right before a step, for which he'd apologized profusely to the annoyed priest.

That really only left him spells for keeping people busy. Conjuring ropes, impeding movement, even basic hexes and jinxes counted. Perhaps he'd get to those on the way back.

Harry sat up suddenly when he realized he'd been dozing off as he let his mind wander, and his neck was aching from his uncomfortable slumped position on the bench. He glanced to his side. Sam leaned against the side, his head on his arm and eyes closed. Harry smiled as he stood up, tapping the bench softly. Very slowly the bench changed into a comfortable little bed, if rather primitive by his own standards, and a cloth blanket covered Sam on its own. Harry briefly wondered why it had taken so long before it was done, then shrugged tiredly.

"Sleep well," he murmured as he walked towards his own place nearer to the centre of camp. Sam would be fine, since his spells would wake Harry long before anyone got close to the camp. It was about time he'd go to bed himself, since he could feel his eyes protesting against being used. As he walked, he yawned, and something slipped from his fingers as he stretched out. He didn't even notice that as he dropped down on his own makeshift bedspread.

What he'd left behind was just a dead twig.

* * *

Mot ran like he'd never done before, his heart hammering in his chest so loudly that it almost blocked out any other sound. He'd stormed out of his cell with such speed that the one guard that noticed him had just stood there for a few moments in utter surprise, incapable of doing anything but stare. In those few moments Mot had gone to the door, wrenched it open, and jumped right up the stairs behind them to the next level, to ground level. He panted wildly as he kept going, running through the decorated halls. Yells behind him sounded distant, but angry. It wouldn't be long before they were onto him, and he needed to slip away before that time.

"I won't go back," Mot muttered to himself. He looked around sharply, trying to figure out what to do. The man that had been at his side so very often had died, but there'd been nobody there. A spirit had slit his throat, perhaps, or the gods had looked out for him, even all the way out here. It took him only a moment to figure out why.

His captor had mentioned a foreign emissary, here to conduct diplomacy. When Mot had figured out it had to be Egyptians, the man hadn't contradicted him at all. The Egyptians had arrived, after years and years, and with them came the eyes of the gods themselves. One of them had to have seen his plight so very far from his home, and they had freed him from his bonds. He couldn't suppress a smile from ear to ear as he dashed through the streets of the dark city, leaving the temple far behind. If the gods themselves had spared his life, then he had been kept alive in this place for a reason! He had not been taken for all those years just to be a slave to a foreign master. He felt lighter than he'd done in years, as if he could run on the very air.

Mot wished almost desperately that he'd see an Egyptian banner, or a great armada before the gates, as a sign of their presence. The city was large, and even if he reached the shoddily-built outer reaches and hid among the garbage, they'd find him. Even with the many little huts that were placed so close together that there were an infinite amount of child-sized alleyways, he wouldn't get out when the temple wanted him. The only reason there weren't a hundred guards scouring every inch of the city right now was that very few had found out about his escape. He had to take this chance, he didn't have a choice. He'd have to figure out a way to leave the city entirely.

He'd never found out what the city was called. If it had a name, it was never used in common parlance. Most of the people that he'd met just called it the city of the storm, after the huge temple that dominated the centre of the city, the very temple that held the prisons. Below those prisons, buried in the earth, were the secret chambers, and he only knew about them through stories, though he'd seen many a priest passing by his cell before, passing by to their destination. Nobody knew what the priests did down there, but it involved blood, a lot of blood. Cows were brought down to be drained, and perhaps the same was true of people.

Around the tall temple that housed these horrors was a vast conglomeration of people that both worshipped and feared whatever unholy deity held sway here. Mot was certain that his faith in his homeland's gods was the reason they'd kept him here for so long. These foreigners couldn't break his spirit, and therefore they'd tried to break his body instead. As his steps kept taking him closer to the distant gates with a steady gait that surprised him after being only barely mobile for so long, he smiled. They had failed in this, too.

The main gate was guarded by many soldiers on both sides, and Mot was tempted to stop, to try and find a way around the huge entrance that would get him killed. He knew the wall around the city was taller than he could climb, and many soldiers stood atop it with great spears. They would certainly kill him if he tried reaching their level. The doors were open, as it was a trading day, but there were perhaps even more guards than usual. There were other gates, but the were smaller and more easily defended. He only had one option here, that gave him a shot. Perhaps, with a little help from above, he could do this.

"Hemsut, guide me today," He said at last, and despite his urge to run as far away from the soldiers as he could, he wrenched the last of his energy into a desperate flight, speeding past the first few of the gate's guards before they even noticed him, sliding past a donkey that had just been let into the city, and ripping the spear right out of the next guard's hands before throwing it in his face and dashing off. The man looked incredulous as the boy half his size cleared the gate, and just kept going.

"Put him to the spear!" Someone yelled over the sudden din, and Mot paled. "He's escaped the temple! Kill him!"

Mot kept going despite the yelling, trying to run in erratic patterns to avoid spears. He heard the thudding of boots behind him, and realized that someone was following him. In the distance he could see pinpricks of light on the ground, though the early morning sun already peeked over the horizon; soon the darkness would not be any sort of cover anymore. The yells of the guards echoed far around. He didn't have any plans; he was just running because he had to, because there was nowhere else he could go. If there's been water he might have tried swimming for his life, as he was certainly one of the few here who had ever paddled in the Nile. Unfortunately, all he saw was arid wastelands and sparse trees.

A spear slashed past his shoulder, tearing a long bloody line through his skin as it did. Mot shuddered in pain, and he grimaced, turning his eyes up to the sky. The spears were poisoned, he knew that. Poisoned, right when he was about to escape. Was this all he was meant for, in the end? To die senselessly as he escaped from his captors?

His legs were beginning to feel heavier, his head thudding painfully. He couldn't go on much longer – he'd collapse from sheer exhaustion before the others gave up, and they would be merciless. Mot chanced a glance behind him and almost tripped when he realized four guards were after him – four heavily armed guards, one of which was wearing a shiny helmet with a lightning bolt painted on it. It was a guard from the temple.

"Stop running, or we _will _kill you!" the man called out.

Mot knew that if he stopped they'd kill him too. They weren't even trying to hide it – three viciously gleaming spears were already aimed towards him. Desperately he threw his hand up. "Hemsut, if it is your will that I die here today, so be it. If not, I require your help!"

The temple guard snorted. "Your false gods will not serve you, thief! This is the land of Ba'al Hadad, and he and his priests demands subservience!"

"Do not speak ill about the gods of Egypt," Mot snarled back, panting as he almost tripped. "They will bring their wrath upon you for your blasphemy!"

The guard smiled viciously, and in a sudden burst of speed he reached Mot, slashing at his leg with his spear and managing to trip him on the next step. Mot smacked to the ground, hitting his head against the ground so hard that he saw stars. Before he'd regained his senses, the guard grabbed him by the hair, dragging him upright, though his knees buckled briefly until he kicked one. The man smiled viciously as he pulled a knife from his side, a wickedly curved thing. "So, you thought you could just escape the temple, did you, foreigner? For that, your death will be slow and painful. In the end you will scream for Ba'al to release you from torment."

The man cut Mot in the shoulder with a single thrust, and he screamed. It was the same shoulder that the spear had hit, and blood poured down his arm as he cried in pain, staring up at his new tormentor with something rawer than fear. He felt light-headed, and intense pain radiated from the shoulder to all the parts of his body, and all he could think about was how to get his revenge. He knew what was coming – they had him now.

"The poison will not kill you," the guard of the temple said. "Much of it will be bled out by the other wound. Oh, you will certainly die, but not before I am done." He shook his head as he wiped off his knife against Mot's loincloth, raising it again. He gazed speculatively at the boy's face, then grinned toothily. "I wonder, does one survive without an eye to see with? Would the pain be enough to end someone like you?"

Mot tried to back away in terror, tried to rip free. In the distance more guards were approaching, and he doubted they'd come to help him. The guard's knife looked very sharp and terrifying, with blood still dotting the edge from his last attack. Desperately Mot closed his eyes, thinking of home, thinking of the family he'd lost. Perhaps he'd see them again, at last, and he liked the idea of them being the last he thought of, or see in his mind's eye. Perhaps the gods had intended him to die free, instead of executed publically before the monsters of foreign lands, and here was the moment it would happen.

"Let the boy go!" Someone yelled, and Mot's eyes snapped open wide. That hadn't been the language he'd learned here, the language that everyone had spoken since he'd gotten here. That had been _Egyptian._

The guard lashed out with his knife, and Mot screamed in terror. In the same moment that the knife went flying, leaving the guard's hand forcefully, the man that held it gasped while bringing his hands to his throat in sudden fear. He couldn't take a single breath. He glanced at Mot with hate in his eyes, his hands grasping for the boy's neck when he froze entirely, toppling onto his back and finally releasing Mot's hair, along with a long, difficult sigh.

The other guards weren't looking at Mot. They stared behind him. Mot turned around in an instant, to find a dark-haired man staring back at the guards, some kind of wooden rod raised in his hand. Around his neck he wore a golden collar, gleaming in the sun. It was very similar to the one a Pharaoh wore, and for a moment Mot considered the unthinkable. On the front of the impressive ornament was a symbol: A snake biting its own tail.

The new arrival stepped towards the collapsed guard, and the three others backed away carefully. They'd probably figured out that they were dealing with an Egyptian official too. Mot could only come to one conclusion. It had to be the emissary from Egypt that his torturer had mentioned. He'd found the man, he'd actually found him. The gods were smiling on him, today.

"Are you alright?" the man asked, looking over Mot's injury with a frown as he crouched by the unconscious guard, nodding as he put his fingers to the man's neck. Mot tried to answer, but he didn't know what to say. He sank to his knees as they gave out on him, and sighed in relief and wonder. After all these years, someone had come for him. The man stared at him and nodded to himself. "Right. You all speak another language. I really need to figure out how to learn more of them without doing it the old-fashioned way again."

"I can speak Egyptian," Mot quickly said, wincing as his hoarse voice came out sounding even worse than he remembered. "I – I am Egyptian. I was taken, taken from home years ago. They've kept me here, and when they knew Egyptians were coming, they tried to kill me."

The man scowled darkly as he glanced at the guards that kept a safe distance. "Are there any others?"

"I don't know," Mot said softly. "I've never seen any others…"

The man nodded, narrowing his eyes. "I will protect you, should it be necessary. These people would not be foolish enough to go against me when Egyptian citizens are concerned." He shook his head. "They call me Heru, by the way. What about you?"

Mot looked nervously at the guards. "Mot – my name is Mot."

"Well, Mot… how about we get you out of here?" Heru smiled, then looked at him with a peculiar look. "I could've sworn I just disarmed him. The choking thing… Stay with me, all right? I want to talk to you after this is done with."

"Of course," Mot said weakly. "I'd be dead if I didn't."

"Right." Heru nodded, rising to his feet. His friendly expression got decidedly less so when he faced the guards. "Translate this for me, will you?"

"Ah, yes," Mot flustered as he quickly went to stand beside Heru, nursing his wounded arm but trying not to show how much it hurt. He'd been _saved,_ a few scars didn't matter.

"I am Heru, Advisor to the Pharaoh of Egypt, on a diplomatic mission to his land," he started, and Mot stuttered a little as he translated. Heru seemed to notice and just smiled indulgently. "I want an immediate and thorough explanation for what's happened here. Why was an Egyptian boy being chased and nearly killed by guards of the city, and who ordered this?" He stood up straight, frowning darkly. "They had better have a very good explanation, for all your sakes."

Mot translated the rest haltingly, glancing worriedly between the unarmed man and the guards with sharp spears and knives. Though, he _did _mention he'd disarmed that last man, and he hadn't even seen how he'd done it. Then, there was something even bigger: He was advisor to the Pharaoh. Mot had never even heard of the position, but it sounded very important. That had to be why his collar was so similar to that of the Pharaoh, as well.

"The priests lay claim to his soul," one of the guards said, glancing at the unconscious guard that lay flat before Mot with a frown, then turning his fiery gaze to Mot. "The boy was to be condemned to death for continued blasphemy against Ba'al Hadad, Lord of the Storms."

"Lord of the storms," Heru muttered. "I should have guessed, that's why this one has a mockery of my scar on his head, I suppose." He frowned. "Former scar. That's weird to think about, actually."

"…S-Should I translate that?" Mot wondered.

"Tell them that since you are clearly not a native to this country, you are not subject to whatever demands their deity might make." Heru raised his wooden stick threateningly, though Mot wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean. "Tell them that I represent Egypt's ruling class, and with me is a representative of the priestly class as well, as is one of the soldiers, who speaks for the armies."

"Egypt has no power here," the guard retorted boldly. "This is Ba'al Hadad's terrain, and all those who live under his dominion will serve. This city honours him above all others, and your Egyptian gods have no place in his presence."

"Don't they?" Heru asked, turning to Mot. "Trust me," He muttered in Egyptian. Heru smiled as he put the carved wooden stick against Mot's wounded shoulder, and drew the tip over the knife wound. Mot gasped in amazement as before his very eyes the wound began closing, stitching itself together where the object had passed. Blood stopped pouring, his very skin melding together until the wound had vanished entirely. The spear's wound followed quickly, and Mot could only stare in disbelief. That had been divine power, channelled through a mere piece of wood. It had to have been cut from a blessed tree, a living piece of a god's power in the hands of a man. Heru smiled as he stepped aside. "A good thing I ended up learning that one…"

"Impossible! It must be trickery!" one of the guards exclaimed, and Mot quickly translated, running a hand over his wound in elation.

"The Gods of Egypt take care of those who belong to Egypt," Harry explained, smiling. "I lay claim to this boy, in their names, and in the name of the Pharaoh himself, who is blessed by Heru, the god who is my name-sake. Ba'al Hadad can be content with the people that are his already."

A few of the guards muttered to each other and the first that had spoken seemed uncertain. For the first time they seemed genuinely worried about the advisor, who stood so very casually before them with nothing but a stick of wood to protect himself. Mot looked at his arm in awe, and realized that the gods had more than interceded, this time.

"A priest should speak to you," the first guard said after a moment. "We cannot make such decisions. The boy is to be put to death, as it is the punishment written into law for blasphemy. We cannot change such things on the word of an outsider, much less another worshipper of false gods."

"If you wish to arrest me, feel free to make an attempt," Heru said, smiling wryly. "I believe you would find it difficult. We will go into your city, and speak with your priests directly. I will arrange the boy's release with them." He glanced at Mot, then. "You will not harm the boy while I am in your presence, or I will leave and speak most unfavourably about your nation to the Pharaoh. I will also leave it burned to the ground. Killing the subjects of my country is considered quite rude."

"Please don't make me go back," Mot said after he translated, leaving out the rather outlandish threat. He glanced at Heru worriedly. "They have already tried to kill me once, in there. They will try again."

"You won't have to worry about being attacked."

Mot blinked. "Why not?"

"You are with me," Harry said simply. He removed something from his neck, a shimmering necklace. "I am giving these out a lot, it seems. Now I understand why Dumbledore kept so many knick-knacks lying around. Never know when they might come in handy." He smiled as he clicked it closed around Mot's neck. "Keep it on you at all times, it'll keep you safe from harm." At the end of the necklace was a small charm with several jewels in it, a falcon carved into the front. It was a charm of Heru.

* * *

"You did _what?"_

"I sort of threatened to burn their city down if they didn't let us in," Harry said tightly. Behind him the three guards had followed him, with three more approaching. Mot glanced nervously back at them, one hand clasped around his new necklace until his knuckles turned white. He smiled down at the boy with what he thought was an expression that didn't betray how uncertain he was about most of what he'd done in the last hour.

The yelling had awakened him, and with the sun just peeking over the horizon, Harry hadn't really thought it a good idea to crawl back in bed only to be woken up half an hour later by an irate Wosret. He'd just walked over to figure out what was going on, and before he knew he'd been running, since even if he didn't understand a word of the shouts, they sounded positively enraged to him. Due to echoes, the actual origin of the sounds turned out to be only a stone's throw away from the city, almost half an hour's trip from the camp if he'd headed over at the usual pace. The group had chosen to camp this close to the city so they could arrive early the next morning. He realized now that it had been a lucky choice - for the boy would've been out of reach if they'd been anywhere else.

Mot, as he was called, turned out to be a fugitive. When Harry had first seen him the boy had been running like his life depended on it – Harry had later found out it actually did – and was fleeing from no less than four heavily armed guards, with one of them carrying particularly official-looking paraphernalia including a fancy helmet with the symbol for a lightning bolt engraved right on the front. When the man had cut the boy with his spear to trip him up and then proceeded to try and do worse things, Harry had finally reached them. What happened next was almost a blur to him. He'd called on the little information he had picked up from Wosret, from the few times he'd actually listened to the man's lengthy theological discussions, and had essentially drawn a line in the sand that very few would disagree with, here. Now, the idea of distinct nations and their peoples seemed to be a bit different from his own time's, but where religions were concerned, there was a staggering array of rules and precepts and beliefs. Perhaps it would work; perhaps he could use the very subdivisions that made international treaties so difficult, and use them for his own purposes.

He didn't really know where Mot came from, except that he not just spoke Egyptian, but even had a decidedly darker skin-tone and hair colour than anyone else around. He looked rather like a younger Sam, if you took away the latter's rather bushy eyebrows. Harry was inclined to believe his claims that he'd been kidnapped from Egypt, since raids on smaller towns were hardly unheard of, thought he last had been a year or two before he'd arrived. That would mean that Mot had been here for at least five years. How old was he, anyway? Ten? Eleven? He would've guessed fourteen, if he hadn't known that children grew up a lot faster in these parts, and that a few years in prison could hardly have been an enjoyable experience.

As he thought of that, he decided to put his cards on the table. "When we're heading out to negotiate with these people, I'm going to arrange the freeing of Egyptian prisoners," he said after a few moments, and he definitely caught Sam's attention with that comment.

"_Egyptian _prisoners? How many?"

"At least the one," Harry said, tapping Mot on the shoulder. "There might be more, we'll have to figure that out when we get there. The prisons are in the temple building, so if worse comes to worse, we go down there ourselves and check every cell."

"We don't have the supplies to take many of them with us," Sam said worriedly. "If these people have been taking Egyptians as captives, should we even consider making deals with them? Perhaps we should free them and leave with as many as we can, since our supplies will only dwindle the longer we stay here."

Harry wasn't too concerned with supplies - he could enlarge and multiply food where needed, and the rest could be arranged with some ease if he really felt the need. "I've arranged a meeting with the priests of the city. They seem to run it. I suppose this place i sun by a cult, and I'm not entirely sure if there's anyone in charge over the temple that can actually do something." Harry wondered worriedly what the 'god of storms' might have in store. Were there wizards in this city? Why then had they not tripped up Mot? Even a simple levitation spell could have stopped him from fleeing. Had they simply been too slow, or absent for a while?

"A cult, you say?" Wosret raised an eyebrow. "Which god holds sway?"

"They go on about a Ba'al Hadad," Harry muttered, shrugging. Several of the city guards chattered to each other when they recognized the name. "Some kind of weather deity, I guess."

"How interesting," Wosret breathed. "Shall I lead in the meeting, then?"

"I will meet them myself," Harry said quickly. "I believe that they will respond more favourably to a demonstration than to your words, eloquent as they are." Harry tried not to show that what he really meant was that Wosret would probably say something horribly offensive when talking about their god, and Mot would probably repeat it word for word, as he certainly had no sympathy for these people judging by his constant fearful expressions. Granted, he'd probably end up doing something similar if he ended up actually facing them, but at least he had the magic to back it up.

"Savages," Wosret muttered. "The fine art of the word is so easily maligned."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Sam, get all your men ready – in an hour, we will reach the gates, probably sooner. Mot, you will stay by my side." He glanced at Wosret and paused. "Have you heard their language, by the way? It's fascinatingly different from the Egyptian one…"

"Really?" the man perked up, turning to one of the guards in excitement. "I have learned many tongues, but I'm not sure that this one would be similar to any of them, given that they're from the north…" He wandered off to speak to the locals then, and Harry sighed in relief. Mot even smiled, briefly, and Harry counted that as a victory. It was the first he'd seen since he'd stopped the knife that was to maim him and had stood up for the boy. Mostly Mot seemed to just be in a daze, often not even responding to questions. And there was a question he wanted an answer to rather badly.

Back when he'd saved Mot, when he'd ripped that knife right out of the attacker's hand, the man had collapsed due to breathing problems: Quite suddenly he'd started grabbing at his throat. It had taken Harry only moments to realize that a single coin, flat and made of some kind of uneven metal, was lodged solidly in his oesophagus. He could have sworn that it hadn't been there a moment before, which meant that it had to have come from somewhere, and a small collection of similar coins in a pouch tied to the guard's makeshift belt had told the rest of his story. If the coin hadn't found itself spontaneously from the closed pouch to the man's mouth, and he hadn't willingly swallowed it, then there was really only one possibility that made sense to him.

Magic.

The boy was the right age. Harry himself had already had quite a few accidental mishaps at the time, and certainly in much less gruelling situations. Being chased by bullies, however terrifying, didn't hold much of a candle to being chased by four people who are actually trying to kill you.

Harry was reminded, though, that this bout of accidental magic could have become very lethal if Harry hadn't been around to make the coin vanish. Instead of escaping, like his own accidental magic with the bullies, in this case Mot must have wanted on some level that his attacker be hurt; it was all about intent, after all. He remembered all too well the history of another wizard that started his career with magic that was all about hurting people, and he hadn't turned out well.

If Mot was a wizard in the making, then he'd have to make sure that he was taught well, and not left to develop ever more deadly ways to use magic. He knew what he'd achieved in a few years of experimentation, and though it wasn't a staggering array of new spells, he certainly did know a thing or two about casting them now, even without books to guide him. Someone had to have written the first spell books, the first generation of wizards and witches. If Mot was one of them – he certainly hadn't heard of any others – then he had a chance to make things better, here.

He didn't know if he could change the future, but he knew how to change the present. When he was done in this city, when they headed back, he would see if his guess about Mot was right. Then, if he was, he'd think long and hard about the consequences, and what he'd do.

And after that, perhaps, there would be two wizards.

* * *

Harry looked on in boredom as three priests went through an extensive and pointlessly ostentatious ritual to welcome the new guests. Mot stopped translating their chants mid-way through, probably more so because they started getting so slurred and indistinct that he couldn't understand them anymore than that he got tired of it. Indeed, Mot seemed rather tense around the many armed guards that lined the perimeter of the hall which was on the second floor of the large temple that he'd been a captive in. Harry was already mildly annoyed by the fact that all the priests were smiling and chatting happily, even after he'd asked Mot to tell them that there were certain issues that needed to be resolved first.

"We welcome you, Heru of Tjenu, Advisor." The head priest stood, bowing. "The city of the storms is open to you."

Harry grumbled something under his breath. "I am not interested in your politics or posturing, priest." Several gasps ran through the hall as Mot translated it, and Harry could see that the head priest was already preparing for a reply, probably as hostile as his own. He didn't give him the chance. "I arrived to your city this morning, hoping for a productive meeting. Do you know what I found? You must have, for he sits here with us now, translating my words." He nodded at Mot. "This boy, a citizen of Egypt and a captive of your city, had escaped his own death. He was to be executed before I arrived, perhaps to prevent me from finding out that despite your claim to wish for a peaceful diplomatic meeting, you would gladly imprison the subjects of the Pharaoh."

"That is preposterous!" one of the priests yelled, and the other nodded emphatically. The head priest sighed, shaking his head.

"The boy has been in the city for many years, and his captivity pains us greatly. He is a blasphemer and a rebel, speaking out against Ba'al Hadad's supremacy." The man glared darkly. "Death is too light for such crimes, but we are merciful."

Harry snorted, shaking his head. "Mot has been in your city for years, you say, and you were well aware that he is an Egyptian child, were you not? It does not matter to me how he came here, merely that you held a child of a foreign power within your walls and told nobody, going so far as to try and hide what you had done before those who might uncover your plots arrived here. How many more Egyptians are in your prisons, priest?"

"We should not speak in such haste about only a single boy," the head priest tried, and Harry Silenced him from below the table.

"That was not an answer to my question. If you cannot speak about the crimes you have committed, do not speak at all." He stared darkly at the man as he tried to talk a few times, and failed every time. Fearful eyes went to Harry who kept himself steady. He'd done this before in his role as Advisor, and in the past it had greatly unnerved the foreign representatives. A hush broke out among the guards, and the head priest held up a hand, scowling at Harry with narrowed eyes.

"A single boy is more than enough to question your integrity," Harry finally said. "Egypt does not hold captive anyone from your nation, and we would not do so unless we were in active state of war. We are not – not yet. We will release all the unlawful prisoners you keep here, those who do not come originally from this city, who are not subject to your god's whims. If some have died here, as seems likely, then we will take their bones to be buried honourably. If you do _not_ follow this very simple instruction, then I will have no choice but to apply force."

"With _what?" _the head priest asked in exasperation, and found that his voice had suddenly returned. Harry was tempted to laugh at the man's befuddled expression as his far too loud exclamation echoed through the room.

"Bring every Egyptian prisoner out of your prison. I will find out if you kept any, believe me. If you do not do so, wel..." He glanced at the two priests that flanked the one he spoke to, and smiled. At once, both the staves they held transformed into serpents, and they dropped them to the table with a yell. Both of them were actually just really lifelike similes of the creatures, since without Parseltongue he couldn't really hope to control ones with actual minds. The two serpents quickly make their way over to Harry under his careful insistence, and he distractedly patted one on the head, keeping his wand under the table again.

"You dare to use these blasphemies here? In the Hall of Hadad?" the head priest said sharply.

Harry smiled dangerously. "Tell me, priest. Do you even have any power here? Does your Ba'al Hadad even manifest himself?" Harry figured that he wasn't doing miracles any more than a priest here might, but he was speaking on behalf of Egypt, and his magic certainly counted for a lot more than what he'd surmised was going on. He hadn't seen a single wand, and the shock from the two priests had been genuine, and they still seemed surprised to this minute. They'd never seen such magic before.

"Ba'al does not lower himself to such parlour tricks," the head priest said, and he sniffed disparagingly. "He gathers storms to him and brings lightning to the earth in great flashes of divine power. He is lord of all the sky, governing the rain and the fertile ground."

"Yes, yes, nice words," Harry winked at Mot. "Yet, as the god of storms, he seems unwilling to show himself when it would be helpful, does he not?" He frowned. "Mot, tell them to open the window up there."

High above them, almost twice as high as Harry could have reached, was a small window. Probably it was meant for ventilation, and it was the only one in the entire room. It would serve his purposes, for now. Clearly these people needed a proper demonstration, and he knew of one way to get them to submit. To beat their god at his own game.

"To open… the window?" The head priest glanced up and shrugged idly. "So be it."

Harry waved his wand and the window unlatched itself, swinging open. Ignoring the renewed gasps, he turned to the opening and raised his wand, making sure to keep it covered mostly by his hand. "Tell your god to show himself. Rain or lightning will do. Let him strike me down where I sit, perhaps." Harry had seen the clear skies outside; there would be storm in days, and without a wizard they couldn't hope to make it happen. Perhaps, if there was one here, he would show himself now.

The head priest muttered to the other priests. "What are you attempting to prove, foreigner?"

Harry smiled. "Merely that, if I wish, I can be particularly dangerous to you. Ba'al Hadad will not answer your prayers, will he? Like so many gods, he is capricious, untrustworthy." Harry thrust his hand up and hoping dearly that his spell would work. He'd only figured out how to make the _Aguamenti_ spell more versatile than a simple stream a few weeks before, and adding a few bells and whistles wasn't too difficult if he was quick with his wand.

The window exploded in a rain of wooden shards, and a sudden cold storm of water roared into the room, thunder flashing and thundering alongside with such ferocity that Mot hid under the table and even Wosret threw himself to the ground in fright, even though he'd seen Harry use explosive spells before. It lasted only a few moments, before the window lightened once more, and the flashes stopped. The last of the thunderous rumbles took longer to subside.

Harry lowered his wand at last, turning back to the high priest who was utterly drenched and dripping streams of water onto the floor with an expression halfway between terror and fury.

"Not all the gods are so unreliable," Harry said at last, raising an eyebrow. "Release the Egyptians, or more than a mere window will suffer this fate."

"_Slay the blasphemer!" _the head priest finally yelled, and Harry sighed in defeat as he ran a hand through his hair. Mot looked up at the destroyed window in awe, barely even noticing that all the guards suddenly clasped their hands tight around their spears.

"Well, that went horribly wrong," Harry muttered,, though he wasn't surprised. He should have guessed, really: Though a good old threat usually worked, he might have gone a little far, here. There were no wizards among these priests - just old men with titles, old men who claim to speak for a deity that either didn't exist or didn't care enough to show up. He hadn't intended to make his demonstration quite as spectacular as he did, but it didn't really matter. If this threat didn't do it, then these priests simply wouldn't roll over. He'd have to get the Egyptian prisoners himself. They had casually skipped answering his question about others beside Mot, and that was suspicious enough. He glared dangerously as he put a protection charm on Mot, Wosret, and himself; Sam and the others were sheltered behind them well enough.

The head priest had calmed down a little, and found that he once again couldn't speak. This time, none of the priests could.

Harry collected himself, hoping that what he'd done would actually help, rather than just do more harm. He sighed as he looked across the table. "Murder seems an unwise reaction to this demand, or to the force displayed. I will allow you to think about the consequences of your choice here, in light of the evidence on your wall." He looked down tiredly. "When you have reconsidered, we will continue our negotiations."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Took a while, but here we go again. No timeskips in this one, and this thread will be finished in the next chapter. We will be heading towards the end of this particular chunk of the story and skipping a bunch of years ahead, to a late adolescent Mot, Harry's troubles with Khnurn, and so forth. It will be a matter of time before the comfy job has to make way again for something else.


	7. Mercy

**Chapter 7 - Mercy**

The first time Harry had ever been involved in a diplomatic contact had been quite messy. He had been asked to sit alongside the Pharaoh for a meeting, a few weeks after he had been appointed as Advisor. He hadn't been used to the idea yet, since he had really only gotten a lot of verbal instructions up to that point. It had been a rather cold morning, and as Harry waited impatiently at the gates, he had thought about the role he was being asked to play, and worried what to do.

Oh, there was no mistaking that it was a role he was asked to take on. Even the Pharaoh, who wielded the greatest amount of power in the entire nation, played a role outside his private chambers that differed from his real self in subtle but important ways. He acted aloof and almost ungraspable whenever guests were in his presence, and there were many who seemed to think that this was expected of someone in the position. When the man entered his private chambers, however, the collar came off. Harry had never seen him smile, not really, outside those rooms. One half was the pitiless ruler that had ordered him into a snake's den, and would have cared nothing for his death. The other was a well-read and remarkably jovial husband and father who cared little for formalities outside the public eye, and was patient to a fault.

When Harry was asked to do something similar, to have a public persona that was headstrong and unflinching, he hadn't been sure if he was capable of that. He hadn't even been sure if he wanted to do that. It reminded him of too many people in his own time that had one opinion when they spoke to some, but in secret disagreed entirely. Lucius Malfoy came to mind, or even Professor Snape. Uncertain but willing to try out acting like the Pharaoh expected, he had gone into the meeting while focusing on how he acted when he met Voldemort face to face for the last time. He had been strong then – he could do that again.

He had put on his golden collar like he did any other day, but it had been different then. The collar was almost like a mask, he supposed; much like the Pharaoh's own. When he put it on, he had to consider more than his next attempt at figuring out magic or his next journey to find Khnurn, or to track down magical creatures like Phoenixes. With the collar, he was Advisor of Egypt, a representative for the Pharaoh, and with that came many expectations.

It had not taken long before his magic became a topic of popular speculation among those of the common people that he frequently met, and many made the link to the god Heru when they heard his name and realized the close connection he now had to the royal house. An emissary from the gods, that's what they called him, and the idea had stuck, much like it had with Anedjib in Per-Bastet. His public personality, much like that of the god he was name after, was expected to be wise and firm, and dangerous when angered, too.

That first meeting had been with someone who had come from the far south. He was an emissary from the nation just south of Egypt's border, where few managed to make a meagre living. They felt threatened by the appearance of such a comparatively mighty force so close to their homes, and sought to own the land they lived in. Though the Pharaoh had offered several possible solutions, including counting the villages among those of Egypt and extending protection, the emissary had been adamant, even downright rude.

Harry, in the end, had gotten impatient. When the man had finally gotten so far as insulting the royal house for driving the border south – even though it had been such for centuries - he had snapped. The emissary had been pushed back into his chair by an invisible force, suddenly incapable of making any sound, as Harry had forcefully pointed out that his tone was unacceptable, and to try again after he had calmed down. Though the negotiations turned sour and the man quickly left the city, doubtlessly to arrange for a bigger escort the next time, the Pharaoh had seemed oddly pleased by the whole thing, after his outburst.

When they spoke about it later that day, behind closed doors, he had found out why. In the moment he silenced the southerner, he had not been thinking like a recent recruit to his position. Harry had reacted as if genuinely offended at the insult, even though he would normally have shrugged at it. From that day onward, the Pharaoh never mentioned a second persona or a mask, again. With a sickly feeling, Harry had wondered if it was because of his past – because of Voldemort – that he knew how to be like someone else, how to wear a mask like that. He had been inside the man's head more than he cared for, had even been possessed. Had some half-formed memory of the Horcrux he had carried remained?

Staring at the trio of priests across the table, Harry knew that his mask was vital, here. These people would not respect him as he usually was – a lot more forgiving, a lot less theatrical, far more interested in magic and history than in any obscure rituals or foreign gods. This City of Storms was strange to him, and he knew little to nothing of their religion or their culture, but he knew Egypt, and how the Pharaoh expected to be spoken for. His little demonstration was far flashier than he would've ever done as himself, but the Advisor didn't know such restraint. The Pharaoh would not speak in half measures, and thus neither should his representative – and he wouldn't accept a refusal.

He needed to get to some kind of agreement with the leaders, some kind of agreement of equal exchange, though he was unsure what to offer them. He had never put much stock in religion, but here it was a major part of everyone's lives, and though it felt rather cynical to think of it that way, he could use it to get out of this mess. He was using magic, yes, but these people didn't know it. If the sheer threat of foreign gods didn't worry these people enough, then he would have to play it up a little. Beyond that, he didn't know what he could do here – all the jewellery he had with him wouldn't be enough to free prisoners if the locals didn't want to lose them.

Wosret glanced between the shattered remains of the window and Harry, his mouth slightly open in amazement, though he had never voice it in front of so many people. Mot looked on nervously, glancing at Harry for guidance. Harry vowed to get him back to Egypt, and to figure out what to do with him there. If he was a wizard, as he suspected, then it seemed his next research topic would be on something rather obscure – wand crafting.

"You have had several minutes to rethink your position," Harry said at last. "I will not have Egyptian people in foreign prisons when our two nations are not at war. Return these people to us, and we will attempt to salvage this diplomatic mission. If you do not –" He glanced at the destroyed window. "Well, you have already seen what consequences might follow."

Mot translated quickly, stuttering slightly. When he finished, he turned to Harry. "I have seen others that have been around as long as I have, or at least I have heard of them. Few of the children make it for very long, but there are adults…"

Harry grimaced, and nodded. "Tell them this, then." He glanced at the priests, and shook his head. "You have held Mot hostage for years, and there are doubtlessly others that have been here as long. Any possible arrangement between our nations would necessarily mean their release. There can be no negotiation regarding that. This will happen, one way or another."

The middle priest hissed, his voice returning to him as Harry cancelled his Silencing spell. "They are all our prisoners. If you wish to take them, pay for their lives."

"Pay?" Harry narrowed his eyes. "If you do not wish to have any agreements between Egypt and your city, then deny my proposal. We will leave with all the benefits that Egypt might bring; we will also take the prisoners. The only matter to be decided is whether or not you will gain from this meeting or not."

"You would retrieve them yourself?" The priest seemed amused by this. "You believe we would allow such trespassing into the depths of our great temple?"

"No. But you cannot stop me," Harry retorted. Almost as one, the spears flew out of the hands of the guards around the room and clattered to the table. _Expelliarmus_ was very handy, sometimes. He sent a cocky smile to Mot. "As you have no doubt observed, I have brought a small group of Egyptian soldiers with me. Under the protection of the gods, your weapons will not harm them, or me. Your arrows will fall to the ground, broken. Your swords will glance off as if they hit stone. Be wise, and acknowledge a greater power."

The middle priest shook his head as he glanced worriedly at the stack of weapons that now covered the table. None of the guards were dumb enough to try and retrieve their spear. "We... understand that you are offended by our practices of law, but is there no better way to resolve this misunderstanding? All our prisons are filled with those who have done harm to others, or to Ba'al Hadad through blasphemy. By our laws, not yours, they are to be put to death."

Harry sighed. "If they are to be put to death because you cannot free them, then surely you would not be troubled by sending them to another nation? It is no longer your concern what happens to Egyptian prisoners, since we will be taking them back to our own country. If they have committed crimes, then they will be punished there."

"It is _our_ laws that they have broken!"

"What difference does it make to you, that they are killed here, or removed from your land? You will not face them again, unless there is war. The only war that may start here is one of your own making."

"The prisoners belong to those who live in this city, under the wrathful eye of Ba'al Hadad." The head priest leaned forward, and suddenly a thin smile appeared where before there had only been anger. Harry felt a shiver run down his back at the man's expression. It seemed almost… gleeful?

The light of the morning sun that had been streaming in through Harry's newly made window suddenly dimmed, as if someone had put a tarp over it. High in the sky above the City of Storms, something moved. Wisps of white sped through the sky so quickly that Harry could follow their path as they streaked by each other. In the distance, vast cloudbanks approached like floating mountain ranges. The wind chilled noticeably, and Harry shivered at the bizarre sensation as the air rushed in. It felt strange, fluid, even tingly on his skin.

"Magic," he said at last, glancing down at Mot. No, it wasn't the boy's doing; he just looked terrified at the sudden change of weather. This was far outside the ability of an untrained kid, anyway. To change the weather, to manipulate the clouds themselves to this extent, that was the kind of thing that Merlin allegedly did, not any normal wizard. Even Dumbledore at his most powerful hadn't pulled off these kinds of spells. Harry looked back at the head priest with narrowed eyes. "What did you do? You summoned a storm within your own city?"

The head priest smiled. The priest had known, Harry concluded. He had been waiting for the storm to come, had been stalling for time and Harry had indulged him without realizing it. The priest stood up from his seat, his arms wide. "You have brought His wrath upon yourself, foreigner. You who have so blatantly offended his name, you will be the first to be struck down!" he shouted over the wind. "You are all blasphemers in the land of our Lord of Storms, and he shall not let you leave. Let this storm be the one in which you die."

Harry gulped as roiling clouds coalesced into a massive bank of seething rage; tendrils of twisting wind lanced down towards the ground, lightning crackling between the small tornadoes as the rain picked up. Thunder echoed through the sky, and a sudden bolt of lightning impacted a few kilometres away, only a portent. Harry stepped back from the window warily, glancing at the priests. Whoever was causing this, whoever had this much magic, had to be very powerful. With the way the storm converged around the city, they were also nearby.

"Mot, don't leave my side," Harry snapped as a nearly solid sheet of water fell from the sky and blanketed the entire city; little streams formed immediately, meandering down the streets and along the major roads. Mot shuddered as he hesitantly nodded, cringing at every thunderclap. Clearly this wasn't the first of these storms he had experienced. Harry quickly snapped off all the protective shields he could think of, and though the wind and rain stopped hitting him in the face, it wouldn't do much to stop the storm from getting through to everyone else. "Who is doing this?" Harry asked as he faced the head priest, pointing outside. "It's not you three, clearly, and I very much doubt it's your god. Who is doing this?"

The head priest shook his head slowly. "I had hoped to see what power the Egyptians could wield, when we invited you here, Egyptian. Yet – even the Advisor to the Pharaoh pales in comparison to the might of our city." He glanced at the priests to his side with a frosty expression. "The lightning will not end until you lie dead in the streets."

It had all been a trick – the city officials had decided to pit their magic against Egypt's, and they'd found him wanting. Had the Egyptian captives been a trick too? Mot? Harry glanced down at the trembling figure, dismissing the notion. The boy looked far too terrified, and the poisonous looks thrown his way by the men across the room were far too genuine. The priests had taken advantage of an existing dispute rather than manufacturing their own; they had used Mot's escape to plan their own little test. He had been goaded into showing them his magic, and now they knew that he couldn't really summon storms. They had then assumed that to be the limit of his ability.

It wasn't surprising, Harry realized. These people clearly had some kind of contact with magic, for them to summon storms. Magic was wild in these times, though, and spells were mostly later inventions, as were wands. If there were wizards at all, they would probably be one-trick ponies with only a few tricks at best, and no idea on how to use them effectively. That's why the priests hadn't expected more of him; he had blown up a window, shown the priests a few minor tricks, and they hadn't considered the unthinkable possibility that their guest might know a _lot_ more. They would never assume that he was anything more than another primitive wizard without a clue.

"What do you want?" Harry asked at last, his wand still out. He would need to wait for the right moment. He glanced out, and frowned. "You have made your point, priest. You can stop the spell, now."

The head priest, presumably the leader of this particular city, pursed his lips at that. Harry saw him look away for a moment; something about what he had said had perturbed the man. There was only one logical conclusion that he could come to. These people had someone who could summon a storm – but they couldn't control them. If they had been able to actually boss these people around, then the storm would come and go at will, which it clearly didn't. There was only one group of people here that would fit in that category."

"You can't stop it," Harry said softly. "You've unleashed this storm, but you can't control it, can you? Either your wizards aren't competent enough, they don't know how to do it, or..." He narrowed his eyes. "You're forcing a prisoner to do the dirty work for you."

The head priest gritted his teeth at that. "You will meet our demands, Egyptian, or we will unleash our storms upon a city that is not built for them, that will be ripped apart and drowned within the day." Sharp wind suddenly burst into the room, a howling gale that rattled the walls. "You came here with demands, but you are a powerless nation, too weak to stand in the way of this fury."

That was practically confirmation. They had captured someone with enough magical prowess to change the weather, but not to control it. It reminded him of Fiendfyre, which would burn wildly if not controlled by its creator. This city had gotten itself a magical weapon of war. This whole thing had never been a peace talk, or a trading agreement. The City of Storms and its sisters were ready to extend their territory – into Egypt.

There was only one thing he could do to end this here. He would need to defang the snake. The people across from him might believe him beaten; certainly the storm was far greater than any he could conjure o. What they hadn't really considered, it seemed, was that he didn't need a spell of that magnitude.

"_Stupefy,_" Harry yelled, barely audible over the wind. All three priests collapsed into their seats in an instant, and Harry has another spell flying before any of the guards could even snatch up a spear to fight him; a single arrow harmlessly bounced off his _Protego. _Mot gasped in awe as the last of the guards simply sank to the floor without a word. Harry tapped him on the head and smiled. "Told you I would take care of them."

"Should we not kill these people?" Wosret inquired suddenly, staring at the collapsed figures as they breathed slowly. "They will surely become dangerous once more, when they wake up."

"They are not the real threat here. If I remove their trump card, their great advantage, they will give in to any of our demands," Harry said shortly. "Whoever they have locked up in their dungeons is the one we need to take care of. Free them or kill them, without their storms, the city will have no power to throw around anymore."

"I can take you to the prisons," Mot said after a moment. I don't know it that well," Mot said softly. His eyes widened, then. "The blood!"

Harry looked around, confused. There were a lot of unconscious people now, but no blood. "What are you talking about?"

"The sacrifices," Mot said quickly. "Down in the lower levels, there's something that needs blood. They always bring things past my cell, on the way down. All sorts of animals, sometimes children." He shuddered. "The animals would be brought back without any blood in them…"

Only one word came immediately to Harry's mind. _Vampire. _If he was dealing with one of those bloodsucking bastards, this just got riskier. He would need fire, and cutting spells. He had never killed a vampire before, but he knew how it was done. A magical one, though, could that even happen? What kind of ancient being would it need to be to make fantastically powerful storms like this out of thin air? "I don't suppose anyone has garlic?"

Of course they hadn't. That meant that he would be going into what was probably a vampire's den with only a wand and a few tricks, and not even the sun to cover one's escape. Going outside in this horrible weather was madness – the storm was vicious and only getting stronger – and waiting it out would not make matters any better.

"I'm heading down there, but I have to take care of something… make sure nobody comes in here," Harry said sharply, stepping over towards the unconscious priests. If he had been any good at memory manipulation, maybe he would have obliviated them. For now, something else would work. Tapping each of the people in turn, he mumbled under his breath. The Confundus charm was quite useful, and while the priests were stunned like this, it would take well enough to last for a while. "Go, I'll be right behind you."

Mot and Wosret quickly left, followed by Sam and the others; he tried to ignore the wide-eyed stares from a few of them, focusing on the task at hand. He tried not to think about what international incident he might've caused, either. In about five minutes, the priests and all the guards would wake up – and they would be quite convinced that Harry had taken to the streets, fleeing towards the Western Gate. Hopefully it would buy enough time to deal with whatever was causing the storm that darkened the sky.

"Move, and don't be too loud," Harry motioned as he finished his spells and took a right into the hall. No guards or priests had yet appeared from elsewhere in the building – that luck probably wouldn't hold up for very long. "Mot, lead the way."

* * *

Harry stayed close to the boy as the group slowly descended a few sets of stairs, all of them rather crude and unstable compared to their Egyptian counterparts, though the construction was marvellous compared to the rest of the city. Harry stunned three people along the way – priests, just minding their own business; he didn't take a chance. They would wake up after an hour or so, confused, but they would be fine. They finally passed down a hallway one floor below ground level; Mot began shivering heavily, his eyes staring unswervingly at a half-open door in the wall.

"What is it?"

"It's my cell," Mot said hesitantly. Harry glanced inside, and grimaced. A man laid spread out on the floor, his eyes wide open. He was dead, and the clear cut across his neck was plainly visible, a thin line of blood leaking down from it. He didn't need to guess who was responsible. For this one, he hadn't been in time.

"Let's just keep going," Harry muttered, glancing to Wosret, who had been unusually silent for a while now. "Are you alright, old man?"

"I am not _old,_" Wosret muttered irritably. "Do you have any idea what you're doing, here, _Advisor_? Angering foreign gods, destroying the peace?"

"They're holding Egyptians in this building, and they were planning on invading Egypt," Harry said dryly. "I would like to see you handle this one any better. We will free the Egyptians that have been captured, and remove the threat; any trade agreements will have to wait until these people change their ways."

"And what of their reaction?"

"I honestly don't care," Harry muttered darkly. "The Pharaoh protects Egypt, from whatever might harm it. He would not allow another nation to invade without consequence, or to take citizens without an existing war. I am merely reinforcing those positions, as his representative. By leaving all those who we encounter alive, they cannot truly blame us for their hardships. If they are to blame any of us, then, it would be me. I can accept that."

Wosret sighed. "I will defer to your judgment – but I disagree with it."

"Noted and disregarded. I will discuss the topic with the Pharaoh when we return to the capital." He frowned. "Am I the only one that feels the sudden cold?" The temperature had to have fallen ten degrees or more in just a few minutes. The air was moist and felt tingly on the skin, as if it was charged with electricity. It wasn't coming from outside, from some hole in the wall like before, or window. No, the very ground felt cold when he touched it. "It is coming from below us."

"The sacrificial chamber," Mot said, shivering.

"I need you to watch the way out," Harry said at last, facing Sam. "If the priests figure out where we are, they will send people after us." He glanced behind him worriedly. "I'm the only one that can make a difference in there, I think. You should all stay here, and keep each other safe until I return."

"Advisor…"

"You can consider that an order," Harry said, frowning. He looked at Mot for a long moment. "Don't worry, I'll come back."

Harry didn't wait for a response to that, striding quickly into the next hallway, where static electricity sparked at him from a whole array of objects, though a quick protective spell took care of that. Even the substances that shouldn't conduct were sparking, the very air charged with magic that he could feel in the air. He didn't know how any wizard could be in the middle of all this without such spells, and he rather doubted that they had been invented yet. Harry frowned as he moved on – all the stormy behaviour even within these walls didn't make much sense if he was dealing with vampires. They might be dead, but they could still be physically hurt by things, and this wouldn't be comfortable for anyone.

Three cells in the next hallway contained prisoners, all of them covering their head and nestling in the corner of their respective little rooms. Harry ignored them for the moment – they would be safe in there until this was over, since the rooms were isolated enough to avoid the biggest magical backlash. The cold air made way for a sweltering temperature at times, as if all the warmth was being pulled from the surroundings into this central part of the temple's lowest level for brief moments, before it dissipated again. Dead cows and other animals were stacked up against the walls, blood spattered all across the floor. In another corner, much to Harry's disgust, were the remains of a child of only a few years old. Lightning forked through the room, impacting Harry's Shield Charm with enough force to send him back a step. Rain fell, in-doors, with a thick mist creeping over the ceiling like a pack of clouds.

"Stop it, whoever you are!" Harry yelled, forcing himself onward despite the fact that the tingling on his skin had gone from annoying to painful, right through his spells. Muggles would've died in this, he was sure. Harry blasted open the next door, and stopped in his tracks. There, tied up in chains and surrounded by three corpses, was the culprit. There sat the one who had caused the storm, the magical weapon he had sought for.

Its beak was withered and broken, part of it entirely missing. One of its eyes looked mournfully at him, the other was swollen and glassy. Its feathers, the few it had left, hung around its bone-thin frame in such a thin layer that it could certainly not fly anymore, though the creature flailed wildly anyway, trying to get out of its bondage. Arcs of electricity darted across its skin, discharging against the ground or the pole it was tied to. A low, sad wail broke through the sound of the static and the howling wind.

Harry realized at last what it was. A _Thunderbird._ Harry stood transfixed for a long time, as the creature thrashed, its eye roving madly around its enclosure. Blood was smeared across its head, and Harry realized it wasn't the blood of the creature itself; a large bucket had been placed in front of it, filled with bull's blood or that of some other animal. The bird was old and weary, sick from captivity, and it could probably no longer eat solid food. It had been fed liquids instead – when water alone wouldn't keep it alive, the locals had resorted to more barbaric sources for their nutrients. It had effectively been tortured, and in its pain it unleashed its power, the incredibly magic of a species that had gone extinct centuries before his own time.

"You are far from home," Harry said at last. He had seen Phoenixes, sure, and they were considered rare. He'd never thought he'd see this creature at all. Considered a long-dead magical avian, the Thunderbird was not mentioned in many textbooks on Care for Magical Creatures, but there were still rumours among wizards and Muggles alike that a few were alive in the darker parts of the world. He had found one now, though he had no idea how many were left in this time; perhaps the species was already on its way out, and people had taken advantage of that. Harry knew one thing, though. This was a bird from _North_ _America. _It was thousands of miles from where it was supposed to live.

It was like the Runespoor at the palace, Harry realized; a magical creature in Muggle ownership, used or abused for their own means. There were no witches or wizards to take care of them, to protect them from harm, to hide their presence entirely. The serpent at the palace had been cared for – it didn't mind the treatment, and had been healthy. This bird had been treated rather more harshly. The bird's eyes glanced feverishly around the room, and Harry doubted it could see even with the relatively intact eye. The bird shuddered and jerked as if it was still being hit or poked, caught in its own imagination or insanity. If it hadn't been chained up, it would likely have hit its head or toppled off its stand, probably injuring it fatally with the slight frame it had. Perhaps it was trying to do exactly that.

"_Stupefy,_" Harry said softly, sighing in relief as the bird stilled, its eye closing as it sagged in its restraints. The electricity in the air dissipated almost immediately, and silence descended as the winds died down as the sudden flashes of hot and cold equalized. He stroked the tortured head of the Thunderbird carefully, and it whimpered under his touch, even while unconscious.

"Heru! Heru!"

Harry started as Mot burst into the room, his eyes wide. The boy stared at the Thunderbird as soon as he saw it, and then at the dead bodies on the ground. There was blood everywhere.

"You shouldn't have come in here," Harry said seriously, grabbing the boy by the arm and pulling him back to the door. "Do you know how dangerous it is?" He frowned. "Is there a reason you came for me? Did something happen?"

"When the cold left, I thought…" Mot looked at the bird and shivered. "Is that a monster?"

"No." Harry glanced back at the bird, and he had to admit that the creature looked rather worse for wear with its nearly naked skin and its broken snout. "No – it is a victim. Another prisoner."

"Like me," Mot replied softly, looking at the bird again. "Is it -?"

"It's alive," Harry said morosely. "The storm should be ending, soon. I've stopped its cries, at least for now. That should calm the others down."

The storm couldn't have been caused by this single bird, he was certain of that. Sickly and dying as it was, this one had only been able to generate lightning around itself, only enough to work on a very small part of one floor of the building. It had to have been kept like this for years, weak enough to keep it locked up, but strong enough to call its kind. The magic up there was from _other _Thunderbirds_._ Up there flew this one's family, perhaps, or a small community.

With a frown, Harry realized that this city, and others like it, might've been the reason that these Thunderbirds were forgotten in the first place; some small community that had survived thousands of miles from their homeland of America. Here, they were used as weapons; that very use might have led to the extinction of the species.

"Mot," Harry said at last, gazing at the unconscious bird. He would have to try and get in touch with th bird one more time, see if there was any sanity left. "Could you go out for a minute?"

"What? Why?"

"Mot, it's only for a few minutes." Harry replied kindly. "Please – go to Wosret and the others. We'll need to get out of the city with as little fanfare as possible, when we're done here. Tell the others not to follow me out when I pass them, until I tell them that it's fine."

Mot nodded tiredly. "I'll tell them."

Harry nodded, sighing sadly as he gazed on the limp form of the majestic bird. As Mot left, he revived it, though he knew what might happen. The bird cried again immediately in a strangled tone of desperation. Harry stepped closer; the Stunner had robbed it of the strength it had built up, and when he once again stroked its crest, it just crooned mournfully. Harry could practically feel the pain radiating off the broken body; it would never fly again. It wouldn't even walk again. Sightless and driven mad, the creature's life was pitiful.

Harry raised his wand, putting it against the creature's temple. "I'm sorry."

The spell was quick, painless, final.

* * *

Harry passed by Wosret and Mot silently, and the former recoiled in horror; Sam didn't do much better, though he definitely kept it hidden. The storm still thundered outside, and Harry forced himself to keep going. Suspended in his arms, impossibly light, was the Thunderbird's body, seeming infinitely more peaceful, now.

Harry didn't glance at the guards that stormed towards him, the priests that had finally seen through his little trick. His protective spells would keep them away. The head priest in particular stood transfixed as Harry approached with the dead creature, his face white as a sheet. Harry didn't spare him another glanced as he turned towards the doors, and opened them from a distance.

His first steps into the gale outside were difficult, as he was nearly swept off his feet. He ignored it, stepping further into the temple's courtyard and slowly lowering the body to the floor, its broken wings spread out as if it could once again fly. Slowly he stood, staring up into the sky. He could hear their cries, now, cutting through the storm – sharp and piercing, in between the low rumbles of thunder. He raised his wand – a simple burst of light, a spell he had first learned in the last task of Triwizard tournament, would guide them to him.

The huge Thunderbird that swooped down from the dark clouds was magnificent, easily twice the size of the one had had carried out, and covered head to toe in bright feathers,almost white. It landed with slow flaps, flashes of lightning crackling over its wings, never darting away from them. Two curled horns stood out from its crown, and its long beak was filled with razor-sharp teeth; it was a male, Harry figured.

"I'm sorry for this," Harry said, kneeling down beside the body. Phoenixes could understand people, and Thunderbirds were supposed to be just as intelligent. "If there was anything that could have been done... She was too far gone. Now, at least, she's at peace."

The large bird crooned softly, and then its eyes moved up, gazing beyond Harry. Its cries became sharp and feverish again and a shock sparked between the horns on its feathered crown. It was angry, furious even, with the people that hid within their buildings, where they were relatively safe from the destruction wrought by the storms.

"I cannot excuse them for what they did," Harry explained after a while. "I didn't find out about this until today. I think it's best if you leave this place entirely, after today. I don't want to risk that they may catch another one o your kind.." He frowned. He had an idea. "Listen... There is a place, far west of here, across the great ocean. If you cross it, you will find a home, far more accepting for your kind; there you may survive for a long time."

The Thunderbird cried sharply, flapping its wings once. Two other birds swooped down from the skies at once, grabbing onto the body of the dead and vanishing off into the sky again before Harry could really react. The larger one looked at Harry with a look in its eyes that he couldn't identify, and then suddenly ducked its head in respect. As it did so, a single feather descended from its crown, landing by Harry's feet, completely undisturbed by the wind.

Harry picked it up, staring at it for a long moment. A Thunderbird feather. Even the existence of these was legendary in his own day. He couldn't think of a much more meaningful gift for a wizard, particularly one who wanted to get into crafting wands. This he would keep for something special, he resolved.

"Thank you," Harry said, and with a last piercing wail, the creature ascended into the sky once more with a booming sound of thunder as the clouds high above began to lose their energy, the static electricity finally dissipating. Harry just looked up for a while longer, hoping to catch another glimpse of the birds, ignoring the fact that he was getting utterly soaked in the rain.

Finally, when he knew they were gone, he turned towards the temple again. The head priest and his two colleagues stared at him with open mouths; Wosret didn't look much better. Mot cheered as Harry walked back towards them, catching up with him. He smiled at the boy for a moment, then stared at the head priest with sharp eyes. He knew why the man was so contrite, now – not only had he removed the way of creating the 'miracles' that they had been attributing to Ba'al Hadad, but he had also just spoken directly to a Thunderbird in plain view of quite a lot of people. If he were to speak out against them now, Harry's word would hit hard. Fortunately for the priest, he wasn't here for anything like that.

"Well," Harry said awkwardly. "I think I'll take those prisoners now."

* * *

**THREE DAYS LATER - 3047 B.C.E.**

"They've all been fed," Wosret said, and he frowned. "I don't understand how, but all sixteen have enough."

Harry smiled, He had been enlarging and duplicating food quite a bit, neatly circumventing some transfiguration law or another that Hermione had mentioned more than once; he forgot what it was called. Taking over a dozen prisoners along with their little group meant they were slow-going, but he could deal with that. They wouldn't be running out of water or food, at least, and most of the prisoners could pull their own weight. Within a week or two they would be back in Egypt.

"Just see it as a blessing," Harry said as he stood. He looked briefly at the glittering feather that he had put in his pack - it wouldn't let anyone else touch it; Wosret had found that out rather early. Most of the last few days had been spent getting everyone ready for travel; they were camped a dozen miles from the city, close to the place they had been when they first arrived, though no guards had yet come out to meet them. Harry had half a mind to do something nasty to the guards that had been chasing Mot, but he acknowledged that right now that would be counterproductive.

"There is something else that I must note. The child that you have brought along has taken to harassing everyone in the camp, including myself," Wosret said. "He is doubtlessly with the prisoners now. You are the only one he will listen to, so if you would speak to him?"

"Mot listens to me because I appeared when he was nearly killed," Harry said dryly as he fiddled with his collar. "Tell me, do you think that this sudden turn-around of the locals will be enough for the Pharaoh, when he finds out what these people were doing? Sacrifices to keep a creature alive that was far beyond saving? Creating their own weapon of war and a city around it? This whole thing must have been going on for years and years for it to be this large…"

"You should have truly burned down the whole place, as you threatened."

Harry shrugged. His mind kept wandering back to the moment he had found that Thunderbird, shackled and wounded in the basement. Blood sacrifice was used to keep it alive, to keep it in a constant state of deranged panic. There were no wizards to stop that sort of thing in this time, beyond him. Who was going to stand In the way of the next idiot who figured trying to control a dragon was a good idea? What would happen when someone scrounged up a Gorgon from somewhere and went on a rampage? He didn't know, but he thought it might be an important question, in the long run.

Harry wandered over to the prisoners, saying a few friendly words along the way to the shell-shocked but relieved people that he had found in the darkest of cells; some of them had lost toes to the cold, others barely said anything at all when asked anything, and generally turned away from conversation. Mot really was the well-adjusted of the group, and that was probably because of his age. None of the other children had survived. Mot had - but he suspected he already knew why.

He found the boy near the other side of camp, just keeping an eye on people as he leaned against a tree that had seen better times; most of its leaves had been ripped off by the latest storm, and Harry doubted it would survive for very long.

"Heru!' the boy said enthusiastically as he spotted the new arrival.

"Calm down, Mot," Harry said quickly, glancing aside. "Things have calmed down a little around here, it seems. They can take care of themselves for a bit, don't you think?" He flipped his wand out of his pocket and looked at it for a moment. "This is a good a moment as any, I suppose."

"What?"

Harry held out his Phoenix-feather wand, handle-first. "Hold this for a moment, would you?"

"This is..." Mot whispered, eyes wide. "I should not."

"Take it, Mot," Harry said again. "I need to know something."

After another moment of hesitation, Mot grabbed the wand very carefully - he looked it over with wide eyes, seemingly apprehensive that it might start acting on its own.

"Well, give it a wave," Harry motioned. Mot flicked the wand - Harry had only an instant to duck as a sudden blast of heat seared just over his head. Harry quickly grasped the boy's hand before he could do it again. "No, no, definitely not. But - that was pretty much what I expected."

Mot looked confused as Harry took his wand again, and sighed. "What...?"

"That, Mot, is what can happen when a wand doesn't match with its user." Harry smiled at his holly focus. "I imagine that even if you were the type to use holly and Phoenix-feather, this one might be a bit temperamental anyway. We sort of fit together." He looked up and smiled. "The wand chooses the wizard, you know."

"What does that mean?"

Harry smirked as he ruffled Mot's hair. "Well, I don't have any cake to give you, but I suppose you don't even know what that is, anyway. Truth is - you're a wizard."

"A what?"

"Magician, Sorcerer, Warlock, whatever you wish to call those who wield magic." Harry tapped his wand. "This here's a wand - if you've got one that fits you, it allows you to do all sorts of things quite easily. I'm sure you remember the little coin trick you did when those guards were chasing you, right? How did you think you did that?"

"The gods..." Mot said. "They saved me!"

Harry shrugged. "Some say that it's the power of the gods, yes. I suppose it depends on who you ask. I'm sure there are others like us, out there, but they're hard to track down." Harry frowned, looking away. "Perhaps I should change that. Anyway, back to point. I don't have a wand of your own for you - in fact, I don't have any other wands at all. When we get back to the capital, I'm going to try and figure something out."

"The capital? Surely you would not take me there?" Mot said. "I have no money to pay for such luxury."

"I do," Harry said easily. "There's a room not far from my own that's generally unused; I'm sure I can arrange something."

"In the palace!"

"Well, would I go for anything less for my apprentice?" Harry chuckled. He had finally found another wizard, if a young one. He had barely needed to think about what to do after they got back - he had already seen what Mot's accidental magic could do to people, and he had no idea if it would ever stop without any magical training. Perhaps he could help Mot step away from that and into a greater role, like he himself had taken on. He doubted the Queen would object to having yet another kid to dote on. An apprentice to the Advisor - the Pharaoh would probably be delighted at the idea of having more like him around Yes, that could work.

"Apprentice?" Mot's eyes shone in awe.

"We'll figure all that out when we get to Tjenu," Harry said, slipping his wand in his pocket. "Don't let your head swell too much, now."

The boy bowed as Harry walked away, and he sighed. When he started this little adventure, he hadn't expected to end up practically adopting a kid. HIs life had gotten very weird of late - if a good kind of weird. He didn't know what his life would have been like had he just stayed in the future, but he had begun to realize that there was a lot to gain here, too. He could really do good, actually help Muggle and wizard alike, and even magical creatures.

He would still punch Khnurn if he ever met the guy again. But he wondered if he had finally started to figure out what joy could be had, back here in the past.

* * *

A blood-trail stretched through the hall, meandering aimlessly before it went around a corner and vanished. The walls were spattered with it as well, and a single hand print stood out on the wall, as if someone had tried to catch themselves there and slipped.

"This... can't be happening!" Nebit exclaimed, his eyes filled with horror. "It was the dead of night - someone would have heard! What of the guards? Would they not have noticed the noise?"

"The guards have been killed," the Queen spoke slowly as she shook her head. "Beheaded before they could grasp their spears."

"Who? Who did this?" Nebit asked sharply, tears in his eyes. "Who took Ahaneith? Who took my sister?"

The Queen sighed as she shook her head. "I do not know. The culprits took advantage of her vulnerability after she left the Advisor's chambers. The moment that she crossed the threshold, they were upon her. She was stabbed, it seems, and attempted to escape. Whoever took her after that stopped the bleeding enough to prevent further blood loss."

"Why _her_? She's not even a noble! And from the _palace?_"

"Heru," the Queen concluded grimly. "I believe someone is using the Advisor's absence to manipulate him. He will wish to pursue this matter when he returns, and that will take him away from his other duties."

"To what end? He is not performing them now, either." Nebit shook his head, then faltered. "I do not mean any disrespect..."

"His protection upon the Pharaoh remains, even when he is far away. Should he die, however..." the Queen said softly. "Those who move against the royal house seek to remove its most capable protector, it seems. Perhaps they intend to usurp the throne."

Nebit frowned, shivering. "Heru is not due for months - but we know that he has travelled great distances at speed before. If I could reach him, bring him back here sooner, he could retrieve Ahaneith, and kill her kidnappers before they vanish again."

The Queen frowned. "How? Even the fastest rider would take many days to reach across great distances."

Nebit raised a small charm with a Phoenix feather hanging on the end of it. "I believe I know a way."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hey again, hoped this chapter was a nice finish to what started last chapter, though Mot obviously comes along to the next chapters. Finding out what happened to Ahaneith, wand crafting, playing teacher to a wizard quite like himself when he was eleven, and time skips - those are all in the near future. Cheers. :)

Incidentally, the Thunderbird is a real mythological creature that I used here as an extinct species; Miranda Flairgold seems to have used the same creature in some of her stories as well. I'm pretty sure my interpretation (with traditional horns and teeth as distinctive features of one gender) is fairly unique. I believe with Phoenixes and the like in the same universe, these creatures are not beyond the realm of possibility, though they would have likely gone extinct as a result of both Muggle and Wizarding hunting as massive storms are not generally something people want to deal with, and wizards would love to get their hands on all the wonderful magical parts like they do with dragons and such as well. ;)

I will see you in a short while, and here's a little side thingy that's just for fun. An alternate result of Harry's descent to the lower levels of the temple. (Crossover with Stargate.)

* * *

**OMAKE 1  
**

Harry stepped across the threshold, his eyes wide. There, raised on a dais at the far side of the room, was the cause of all this chaos. The storm that raged through the room and to the sky originated from a device, four feet tall and covered in blinking lights. Long cables stretched from it to the far corners of the room where they connected to tall pillars with bright shining bands every few feet, angry sparks of lightning arcing between them. Three bodies were gathered around it, though they seemed long dead.

Just behind the device which was far too advanced to be the work of the priests, or any other civilization Harry knew of, was a gigantic metal ring, easily twenty feet tall. It was covered all around in strange hieroglyphs. The ring was spinning; the outer ring slowly rotated without any support, and Harry figured it was magical in some way. He approached carefully, his wand out, glancing between the electrical device and the ring. If the device was causing the storm, and it certainly seemed that way, then what was the ring for?

Harry shrugged as he quickly cut the connection between the central device and the four pillars, and they quickly stopped moving, their lights dimming. The machine itself took a moment to react before it too started to die down. Then it blazed to life again – and with renewed power, as a sharp whine escaped from its depths and red lights flashed angrily.

Harry quickly Silenced the machine as the whine became intolerably loud. As he did, the grinding of metal against metal became clear – and the fact that it was getting louder as well. The Ring had started to accelerate. "Oh, what did I do _now_?"

Lights flashed on the edge of the ring, clicking in place with a soft thud. The very room began shaking from the sudden activity, and he ring trembled as four, five, six lights went on. There was a brief silence, and Harry sighed in relief – then the ring exploded.

Harry could only just throw himself on the floor as a brilliant wave of blue-tinted energy blasted into the room vaporizing the machine before it utterly. After a moment it stopped and Harry got to his feet, breathing heavily. The ring was no longer just a ring – a blue surface covered the center of it, like an upright puddle with tiny waves.

"Definitely magical," Harry concluded. He stepped closer, frowning. "What did I do to make this happen? Maybe it just reacts to wizards, or magic?"

A man stepped out of the blue puddle without warning, clad entirely in armour, with a staff clasped in his hand. As the soldier immediately brought his weapon forward, Harry reacted instinctively. The staff went flying headlong back into the blue, the man quickly following it with an anguished cry. There was no sound of anything hitting the floor on the other side – the man was just gone.

"What the hell?"

Two more people stepped through the portal then, similarly dressed in heavy plated armour, a bright symbol draw on their forehead. Each of them had a shiny metal skullcap with small carvings of birds around the rim. Harry made sure to have his _Protego_ cast as he backed away slowly, wondering what he was dealing with, now. These had to be wizards, if they were somehow travelling into a closed basement through the magical ring. He'd never seen machines like the one he'd stopped, though.

Whatever the men yelled at him, Harry couldn't understand it. It wasn't Egyptian, though it sounded vaguely similar. Harry backed further away as one of the men looked around in confusion, probably looking for the third of their number, while the other aimed his staff's head in Harry's direction. Before the two could do anything, more people stepped through the gate.

Wearing what seemed to be a massive golden mask of a falcon, a tall individual was the last to step through, flanked by one more guard that had far more intricate suit of armour covered in decorative carvings, and was carrying a wicked-looking staff with spikes at the end of it. The two stopped as they noticed Harry, and the former sniffed as he leaned on his staff.

"_Jaffa, kree." _The guards all aimed their staff weapons.

"Are you wizards?" Harry asked, hoping that they would have a better shot at understanding him than the other way around. "There's no need to shoot me."

The man in the middle stepped forward then, and his mask retracted, folding in on itself. A stern face appeared, studying Harry for a long moment. "Karrok, my First Prime, seize him." His voice was impossibly low, and when his eyes turned to Harry again, they flashed with light for just a moment. Harry quickly avoided some kind of fiery projectile that the guard, this Karrok, fired from his staff.

"Who are you?" Harry demanded. "What are you doing here?"

The man drew himself up to his full height, his eyes shining brightly now. "You dare to address your god in such a manner, mortal?"

"You're not a god," Harry scoffed. "I'm pretty sure they don't dress like you either."

The man shook his head, glancing at the others beside him. "Kill him."

They all fired as one. The staffs spit fire, and Harry's shield was only just strong enough to stop the blast, but the leader quickly raised his hand and they all stopped, much to Harry's relief.

"That technology – what is one of your kind doing with a Goa'uld force field device?" the supposed god said in surprise. "Who did you steal such a rare commodity from, I wonder?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry responded angrily. "Who are you supposed to be, 'god'?"

The man smiled deviously. "I am Heru the Elder, son of Ra and Hathor."

Harry blinked, and smiled. "Well... this is awkward..."


	8. Theory and Practice

**Chapter 8 – Theory and Practice**

"Well, that worked. Now I just have to figure out _why._" Harry prodded at the little stone with the tip of his wand. The little object spun lazily on its axis, moving away through the air as if time itself had gone sluggish around it. It was floating there on its own, apparently completely unbothered by gravity. Harry carefully waved at it a little with his empty hand and the air displacement sent the stone wobbling off for a short distance, but it still didn't fall.

"Professor Flitwick might just fall off his chair if he saw this," Harry said to himself as he picked up another stone off the ground, keeping an eye on the first. He'd been toying with _Wingardium Leviosa _for a while to get his mind off things, after a long day with the prisoners and Wosret, and then he just stumbled onto this little trick. He tapped the second stone, focusing on his wand movements; a counterclockwise twirl at the end, and an additional flick – and little mental prodding to get it going. It felt like it meant something, but he didn't know what it could be.

Harry had long acknowledged that his approach to figuring out magic was _incredibly_ inefficient. He knew for sure that Hermione would have gotten far further than a few basic variations on the spells she already knew, especially after a few years. She'd probably be inventing whole new ones with fancy Latin names, like Snape had been doing in Hogwarts. Harry was just experimenting away without much forethought, beyond figuring out some new and handy uses for his spells. The most vital ones that he might need – apparition, clean water, duplication of objects, repairing – were all already things he knew how to do, thankfully.

He had been writing his findings down, which at least allowed him to keep track of what he had tried, but he was essentially groping in the dark with little to no theoretical basis for how any of it was actually supposed to work. He regretted never paying too much attention to that side of magic when he still had access to libraries full of magical tomes; in school he'd either been too nervous about passing the next test to care much for extracurricular learning, and the Voldemort situation hadn't helped. He felt rather oafish now, playing the role of a court wizard who didn't even know how to put a proper curse on something.

At least, Harry wryly considered, he wasn't starting from false assumptions. All he really knew was half a dozen things that magic wasn't supposed to be capable of: Bringing back the dead (as anything more than a ghost or shade, anyway), making food, gold, a few other similar things. He had already taken advantage of the fact that you could duplicate and enlarge portions of food, which he felt was sort of cheating the system already. Conjuring living things was possible, so why wouldn't you be able to slaughter whatever you made and have food that way? Would it just vanish into thin air after a while? It happened to some transfigured things, but as far as he was aware it depended on who was doing the casting, and a bunch of other things. Dumbledore was a master of transfiguration, Harry wouldn't be surprised if the things he transfigured would outlast everyone.

Really, Harry realized now, he had lost quite a bit of the awe he had for magic over the years. Back in his own time, he'd just seen it as something he used in daily life, a tool. With so many people astounded by the feats one could perform with spells, this time period had fired up his curiosity, and his intent to get better at controlling it; as probably the only trained wizard around, he could at least make a difference, even if he couldn't go back home. Perhaps, in time, he'd regain that feeling he got when first seeing the tall towers and spires of Hogwarts, the lake stretching out before him, a thin layer of mist hovering over the water as he made his way to the little boats.

Reminiscing did nothing to help him right now, though. He considered the floating stones again, and what they told him. Normally he had to keep focusing on the floating object to keep it aloft. Now, though, the little stone just kept doing it, even when he moved to do something else. _Something_ in the change of wand motions had altered the spell. If this variation existed in his own time, though, why had he only ever learned the one that required constant attention? Wouldn't a more persistent version be far more valuable?

Harry tried to replicate his wand movements from before, and the second stone rose off his hand as well. This one, too, remained stationary in the air even after he lowered his wand to glance back at the first. Then the first, quite suddenly, fell. There had been no wobbling – no warning at all. It had hung there for a few minutes, then it dropped.

"Well, that explains why nobody uses it." The second also fell, and far more quickly than the first. Harry tried the spell again; this time both stones rose into the air simultaneously, though one fell again almost immediately.

"Unreliable duration – that must be the reason it's not used. But why would it just _stop_...?"

Harry mused on his temperamental spell and hardly noticed that Mot stepped into the clearing, staring at the half dozen little rocks that Harry had now suspended in mid-air before him. He looked up after a moment, and smiled as he noticed the eleven-year old.

"They are... flying!" Mot said, enraptured, as he approached.

"Technically it's floating, but yes," Harry agreed, as he caught one of the stones as it fell. "Just thirteen seconds, and then this one went for thirty-four. _Weird_."

Mot looked on curiously as Harry studied the stones before him with a focused expression. He sat down next to the older wizard, and Harry smiled encouragingly – that look was very familiar to him. Perhaps _he_ couldn't recapture that moment of awe when first seeing the scope of magic, but there were other wizards around, ones who hadn't seen half of what he had. If even this could amaze, he didn't dare imagine what _Expecto Patronum _might mean to them.

"Perhaps you can help me untangle this little mystery," Harry said after a moment. "The stones remain up for very specific durations, sometimes multiple at a time, but I'm not seeing any pattern. It doesn't seem like it's got anything to do with my wand movements, either."

The boy didn't say anything, and Harry felt a little foolish. Mot barely knew about wands, let alone any of the rest of it. Maybe he should get Wosret to give his opinion, though the man would probably be annoyed at his frivolous use of divine gifts. Harry looked down after a while, letting the last stones fall. "Never mind that, wizardly thoughts. Have you thought about my proposal?"

"The apprenticeship, you mean?" Mot glanced away, biting his lip. "I must have this _magic _for a reason, but you told me that the time I harmed that man in my escape, I used it. If that is how I apply the gifts of the gods, should I want to be better at using that?"

"That was a natural reaction to the stress you were under," Harry noted lightly. "Magic's not inherently good or evil, I'd argue, even if some people would yell at me for thinking that. Sure, there's some spells that probably don't really have a justification, but most magic spells are just tools. They're like a hammer; you can use it to build tall buildings, or you can hit someone over the head, but the one who decides is not the hammer. The wizard is the one who wields the hammer, he directs its blows. If you don't want to hurt anyone, then don't."

"You said that it was like evil magic, though," Mot said, frowning. "That it was of darkness."

"Yes, I mentioned dark magic," Harry said, regretting bringing it up at all. "Really, I'm mostly speaking about three spells there. I never cared to learn much about that particular kind of wizardry, and I'd rather forget most of it. I try not to use them too easily, but sometimes..." He looked aside tiredly. "I can teach you many other spells, when I figure out how to get you a wand. Many of them _could_ be used to hurt or kill someone just as well as with 'dark' magic, but that's the case with many things. Whether or not you do is up to you."

"You wouldn't kill someone with magic, Heru?" Mot looked up nervously. "Right?"

"Some would say I already did that before," Harry admitted softly. "That particular person killed himself, really, but I knew it was going to happen that way, and let it." He shook his head. "Come on, let's not talk about stuff like that. I'm not even sure how an apprenticeship would go, right now. Without a wand..."

Harry looked at his Phoenix-feather focus uncertainly. It was one of a kind, right now – he was fairly certain that nobody was making wands in this time, and without this one he'd be effectively powerless. Making another would be complex, probably, since he only really knew some basics of how a wand worked. He couldn't sacrifice his own to figure it out, either. He had a source of Phoenix feathers, at least – he could get them easily enough, if he went out to find the firebirds. He could also obtain scales or venom from a three-headed Runespoor back in the palace. As for wand woods, well, the royal garden had a variety of trees and shrubs, most of which he could probably use. Holly was definitely among them, so perhaps he could craft a new wand that fit him as well as the other. And then, of course, there was the Thunderbird feather he'd obtained.

Actually, now that he thought about it, wands had been invented in Egypt in the first place, and spread outwards from there. He glanced speculatively at Mot. What if his experiments in making wands – with a little insider information, if you will – led to the very wizarding culture he'd been a part of? Mot would be the first to use a wand, beyond himself that is, and he would probably teach whatever he knew of making wands to others, and it could snowball from there. It was a crazy idea, but time travel was like that.

"When I figure out this wands business, I'm opening a shop," Harry said at last. "There are probably not many wizards or witches in the city, but perhaps I can advertise that all who want to try and use the wands can come by, and I could pass by the smaller towns as well. I believe those who have already experienced accidental bursts of magic might realize that I'm talking about them."

"So, there are others?" Mot inquired. "Like ... us?"

"I'm sure there are some, though I don't know how many. I should at least go and see if they're all fine; accidental magic can be pretty nasty, especially without anyone to reverse the possible damage." He couldn't imagine what would have happened if Aunt Marge had stayed as she had, bloated and floating. Perhaps in this time she'd have ended up dead from the experience. He looked down at Mot and tried to smile encouragingly. "I'm curious as to why there doesn't seem to be anyone who's figured out at least the basics, honestly."

Voldemort had learned how to manipulate magic from an early age – wandless magic, even. Controlled accidental magic in a sense, but he figured it was probably the kind that preceded the invention of a focus. Most magical people would never really figure out that they were so in this age, Harry reckoned.

"How did you learn this – _magic, _yourself? Did you have a teacher?" Mot wondered.

"Of course I did," Harry responded off-handedly. "I had many teachers, for all of the different things I learned. I even had a mentor, sort of. He taught me important things that I needed to know, though not all of it was really about magic." He smiled warmly. "I suppose he was a bit like a grandfather. His name was Albus Dumbledore."

"Such a weird name..."

"I'm not from Egypt, you know." Harry said dryly. "What kind of name is Mot, anyway? Sounds kind of odd, don't you think? Reminds me of mutt, really, or a moth."

"It's a perfectly good name," the boy responded with his arms crossed, sticking out his tongue. "So, this... alb-oss..."

"Albus," Harry corrected. "He was already a very old man when I first met him. I was a kid – about your age, actually. He was kind, but pretty strict. There were times when we had great disagreements, but I learned a lot from him."

Mot looked down. "He is dead?"

"Yes, unfortunately," Harry said, not wanting to complicate matters. The fact that the Headmaster hadn't yet been born would just make things terribly hard to explain.

"I'm sorry."

Harry shrugged. "He loved teaching, and I believe he'd enjoy knowing that I have to learn all sorts of new things. He'd probably think it kept things interesting." He glanced at his young charge. "You'll probably not get the best reception at the palace, since you're not a noble. I'm not sure how they'll receive me after the mess that this diplomatic meeting turned out to be. But, I promise you, I will teach you what I can."

Mot looked dubious. Harry was doubtful himself. He did not know much in the way of wandless magic – it was supposed to be very difficult – and he certainly had no clue how to go about teaching it. He would need to improvise.

"Say, Mot," Harry said after a while. "You were taken from your home, I understand. Did you live there with your parents? Might they still be there?"

Mot looked away nervously. "I do not know my parents. I think they died when I was younger."

"Ah." Harry nodded in understanding. An orphan, something he could relate to. "Where did you live, before you were taken?"

Mot shrugged, but did not respond.

"Mot?"

"I do not know either," Mot admitted finally. "It was a small village, and it was nice, but I forgot its name years ago. I was captured for so long that day and night ran together. All I have left is my language, and memories of the temple that I used to go to. It was pretty."

Harry noticed that the boy looked curiously at the papyrus that he'd borrowed from Wadjet, and the messy scrawl on it. "You didn't learn how to read, I assume?" Harry asked suddenly. At the boy's sullen expression, Harry smiled. "Hey, I can't read Egyptian stuff either, you know. The spoken part was hard enough to figure out, honestly."

"Really?" Mot asked, blinking in surprise. "You...?"

"I'm a foreigner," Harry responded. "When I came here, I didn't even speak Egyptian of any sort, and it took me months to even gain a basic idea of what you were all talking about. I have some advantages for learning a language, perhaps, but even then it wasn't easy. You already know two languages, so I think we could team up on this one. Perhaps that could be part of the apprenticeship? We could figure out those weird scribbles together?"

Mot smiled. "I would like that."

"Then that's what we'll do. We'll get you properly taught so that even if this wand thing doesn't pan out, you can still work and be employed at the palace. I'm sure you wouldn't mind the luxury." Harry smirked at the boy's eager look. "Just don't get a big head over it."

"What?"

"Stay humble, I mean," Harry said at length. Whatever he was going to say next was interrupted rather harshly by a sudden surge of heat as a flame burst into being in mid-air, vanishing almost as quickly. Mot toppled backwards with a cry, his hands over his face; Harry had only flinched, and stared at the puff of smoke with some confusion. It took him a moment to realize that a scroll had been dropped at his feet.

"A Phoenix," Harry breathed in understanding. It had come to deliver a message, like Fawkes used to do. Yet – who knew that a message could be sent that way? Khnurn perhaps, who came from the future as well? He quickly opened the scroll, stretching it out.

"Huh."

"What does it say?" Mot asked, eagerly.

"I have no idea, I can't read it," Harry said dryly. "I wasn't lying, you know. I suppose we should go find Wosret." He groaned suddenly. "Great, now he's going to find out I'm effectively illiterate. He won't stop harping on that for a _week_!"

* * *

Nebit looked after the vanishing bird as it burst into flames, though no ash was left behind. The _Bennu_ had been hard to find; hopefully the message he'd brought would reach Heru quickly to make up for the lost time.

Things had gone from bad to worse since the attack; the palace had three times as many guards on duty, and the Pharaoh already sent out many more to try and track those who had entered the palace; thus far, they had found nothing. Ahaneith was still missing, and quite possibly dead.

Nebit forced himself to keep going, not to think of the worst-case scenario. It was possible she was dead, yes, but he could grieve when he was certain of that. He grasped at his necklace, bidding the gods for her safe return. Ahaneith had been wearing one as well, one that Heru had left her with.

There wasn't much he could do, he admitted to himself. He was only a guest of the Advisor, tolerated in the palace because of his connection with Ahaneith who, it seemed, was generally assumed to be Heru's future wife. With her gone, people would soon realize that her brother no longer had a place in the halls and turn him away. He did not truly care for his new home, but if he was turned away he might just lose track of the search for Ahaneith altogether.

He was almost two hours from the walls of the city, and utterly exhausted.

Then, he was jumped.

There were three men, and Nebit saw them coming only a moment before they were upon him. He whipped out his crude knife; it was a length of metal he had forged into shape himself, and its serrated edges gleamed dangerously.

The first attacker threw a spear in his direction with a powerful swing, not saying a word. Nebit was able to avoid getting skewered by only an inch, and didn't wait for the man to collect his weapon again. His blade slashed out, fast and vicious, cutting neatly across the man's arm and opening a wide gash that gushed blood. The wounded man cried in pain and fell back as the second passed by him, wielding a spear as a mid-range weapon, stabbing at his prey.

Nebit didn't hesitate before moving in; one solid kick to the knee and Nebit had the man staggering, but it left Nebit wide open for the third man's attack, who slammed something heavy and rough onto his back, rattling his very bones.

As the first two took a step back, Nebit's knife founds its way to the third attacker, and through sheer chance it cut through the man's skin, slid between two ribs, and lodged inside a lung. His victim stared in surprise for a few moments, eyes wide, before he shuddered, staggering to the ground with blood-flecked lips. Maybe a little more than a lung. Nebit pulled his blade free viciously, cutting the man up further. One down.

He whirled around as he swung at the other two, aware that they'd warily backed off already, clearly unprepared for a skilled defense. Several years as a town guard paid off at last, even if the few times he'd fought for real were distant memories.

One of the attackers was limping heavily, probably from the kick to his knee. The other shivered as he held the wound on his arm closed; he was incredibly pale. Nebit knew the man wouldn't survive like this; he'd need to bind the wound and hope it would not begin to fester. Most likely he'd succumb to the rotting sickness within the week.

It was only then that Nebit realized that he, too, was bleeding. A thin stream ran down his leg from a shallow wound, a nick from the second man's spear. Whatever had hit his back had been sharp enough to cut the skin as well. None of his wounds were serious enough to tend to immediately. It was as if the weapons had glanced off his skin where they should have kept going.

"Who are you?" Nebit asked sharply, as the man beside him gave a last rattling breath and lay still. "Robbers, out in the wild? What do you hope to find?" He kneeled by his last attacker, keeping an eye on the other two who were still looking on warily. "What foolishness was it to attack me unprovoked, one who does not carry any riches?"

The man was, unsurprisingly, quite dead. He wore a lot of thick clothes around his waist with little pockets all over them; a small bag with coins poked out of one, a scroll of papyrus out of another. Nebit pulled out the latter, and his breath hitched. He couldn't read, but he recognized the fact that it was closed with wax – wax stained red. He'd heard of these, though he'd never seen them before.

"Hired killers," Nebit said slowly, rising from the dead man's side as he slipped the scroll into his pocket. "Were you sent to murder me? What could I have possibly done to warrant such aggression?"

He didn't get a response. The two attackers seemed to hold a silent conversation with each other just by looks, then they backed off, the limping man constantly keeping his spear ready to prevent Nebit from getting any closer.

Slowly his breath returned to normal. The attackers were gone, and they wouldn't get another shot at a surprise attack. There was only one reason someone might have paid assassins to take him down, even if they were amateurs. His connection to Ahaneith and Heru.

Someone was trying to finish the job.

* * *

**SIX HOURS LATER  
**

Harry appeared almost three feet off the ground. He let out a sudden panicked yell as he stumbled painfully to the floor, only barely keeping upright; one hand was still clutched around the little ceramic cup he'd enchanted. He rubbed his chin as he stared accusingly at the Portkey.

"Well, at least I didn't hit a wall this time," Harry finally said to himself as he dropped the cup. "Baby steps."

He quickly recognized where he'd ended up: This was the lowest level of the palace, mostly used for storage. It was remarkably cool, and the darkness around him was barely lifted by the point of light on his wand, as Harry made his way towards the stairs. Spiders crawled around on the walls and the floor, though Harry wasn't really bothered by them. After the giant versions in the Forbidden Forest, these were just a bit pitiful.

He wasn't quite where he'd meant to go, the gate to the city, but this would do. Wiping away webs and trying to ignore the rather awful stench that permeated the air, Harry ascended a ramp on the far end of the room, heading towards the Pharaoh's chambers.

Ahaneith had been taken. Harry wasn't what exactly had happened, since the message he'd received had been short and ominous, but he knew that he wasn't going to stand for bloody kidnapping. The moment that Wosret had told him the message, Harry had set about duplicating as many supplies as he could, enough for everyone to reach Egypt. Then he had made himself a Portkey. Despite his misgivings about leaving him alone, Harry was forced to tell Mot go with the others, to travel to the capital without him. Harry really couldn't risk bringing another person along on a crazy Portkey ride, especially across a large distance. He was lucky he hadn't turned up inside a wall, really.

Harry walked into the long hallway that crossed clear accross the palace, and he saw the first guards since his arrival. His sudden appearance was noted by them, and several gaped at him in surprise. Well, that wasn't too shocking, really. Harry raised his hand to motion them aside, trying to look collected.

"Advisor," one of the men stammered. "You are back in the city? I heard-"

"I returned as swiftly as I could, when I heard news of what happened here," Harry said quickly. "Are the Pharaoh and Queen at the palace?"

"The Pharaoh is not, but the Queen is inside," the guard responded. "Should I send out a messenger?"

"I will speak to the Queen, first." Harry gestured, and the guards let him pass without another word. The beautifully decorated room with carved pillars and remarkably detailed wall sculptures had become rather familar to him, and it felt a bit like home after a few months on the road. The Queen was already present, taking in Harry's traveling clothes. Nebit was also present, pacing nervously.

"By the gods!" Nebit exclaimed, eyes widening. He quickly rushed over. "So quickly!"

Harry dropped the scroll he'd received on the table. "It's good to see you again, and I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to catch up later. What happened to Ahaneith? That's what I need to know, right now."

Nebit stammered, trying to arrange his thougths. The Queen spoke first. "It happened only two days ago, in this very Lady Ahaneith was taken by a small group of trained soldiers – we do not know who sent them, as of yet. They took her away, and hired local thugs to kill several palace guards to cover their departure. There were others who were hired to take out _loose ends, _if you will.."

"Including me," Nebit said nervously. He glanced at the Queen. "Three men tried to slay me in the wilds – they carried an order for my demise, though the name of the one who offered his money is not upon the scroll."

The Queen nodded sagely. "Several other hired killers were apprehended when they attempted to kill palace guards and servants in the wake of the attacks. All of these people were at one time assigned to you, personally."

Harry cursed, running a hand through his hair. "So, it's an attempt to sever the connection between me and the palace," he concluded. "They hope that all that death would lead to my dismissal, as people fear for their safety when associated with me?"

"I believe so. An aggressive move on their part, and I do not understand their motives." She frowned. "There are not many who would have anything to gain, here. If they were able to intrude so easily into the palace, an attack on the Pharaoh or myself would have been far more devastating than on the retinue of an advisor, especially while he was absent."

"They don't want to face what I can do," Harry concluded. "They know I'd stop them before they even got close to me, and they don't want to have to face that kind of threat." He grimaced, eyes burning like coals. "A stupid mistake. Attacking _me_ will do far less to make me mad than attacking other people, especially friends."

The Queen looked on warily. "What will you do?"

"What would happen to these kidnappers, if they were caught?" Harry said, though he already knew the answer. "No, don't answer it. I know what it is." _Death._ "I'm going after her, to bring her back. The attackers didn't kill her on the spot, which means she's probably kept as leverage against me. They'll keep her alive, imagining her to be bargaining chip."

"Several guards were killed in their attack upon the palace, and three assassinations were successful," the Queen said after a while, looking troubled. "Four of the attackers were already killed, but all of them were thugs, not the ones who took _her. _They are trained killers, Heru. Do not run in foolishly."

Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I will take care of them, my Queen."

"I will help you," Nebit announced immediately.

Harry shook his head forcefully. "You won't. If these people are good enough to get into the palace and out again without getting killed, then they're professionals. Southerners, perhaps, but more likely it's rebels who reject the Pharaoh's rule." He narrowed his eyes. "If they touched even a hair on her body –"

"I can fight," Nebit insisted. "I fought with three of them, and slew one with my blade!"

"I don't even need a blade," Harry said slowly. "You've known me for years, Nebit. You know what I can do, and I don't want to put you in needless danger."

"We do not know where she was taken," the Queen said after a moment. "My husband has sent out as many trackers as he could, but the enemy must be well-hidden."

"Probably," Harry agreed. "But Ahaneith is carrying something of mine – a necklace. I can find _that_." He reached for his own, dangling loosely around his neck. "It'll take a while, but with no interference, I should be able to do it."

"How?"

"Scrying –" He paused. "I'll be damned, Divination is good for something." He turned to Nebit. "Find me a map of the region, would you? Just the city and surrounding area is fine. Doesn't have to be terribly accurate either."

"The storage room should have several," the Queen said. Nebit nodded and left. She turned back to Harry with a pensive expression. "Heru – tales are spreading of what happened, and of your sudden return, even with our attempts to contain the rumours. Within a few hours..."

"I'm sure that the guards outside will tell everyone that I've returned, yes," Harry agreed. "We can deal with the problems that causes later." He cleared the table, drawing his wand.

Scrying was an antiquated method of finding things which had only been treated briefly in Trelawney's class, since she had favoured tea leaves and crystal balls before such methods. The reason that it had fallen out of favour was that it became less and less reliable. Due to the concentration of magic in specific places, it became progressively less helpful for finding much of anything. After the Statute of Secrecy, the technique became completely unworkable, as magical populations large centred on a few locations, and the spell was not nearly specific enough to sift through that.

The stated result of Scrying was, at its simplest, the ability to see visions of the past, present, or allegedly even the future, or to channel them into physical manifestations. It was generally thought that only those with the Sight would be able to the first or last, but everyone could see the present. Fairly simple for even a moderately powerful wizard of witch, the practice was common enough to seep into Muggle folklore over the years. Harry tried to remember what Trelawney had mentioned about it.

Nebit returned with a map a few minutes later; itwas crude and rather inaccurate, but it would probably work. Harry held his wand a little above the map as he stretched it out on the table, skipping all the incense and candles and pentacles that Trelawney had used. He tapped the wand against his necklace, then pointed at the map.

"_Reperio Monilis,"_ he whispered under his breath, and brought his wand down.

For a brief instant, Harry saw a point of light flare up brightly on the map. Then the table caught on fire.

The Queen and Nebit flinched back as the fire billowed suddenly outward and upward, and Harry vanished the map entirely before the sudden flames could spread beyond it. A large charred area in the middle of the table remained behind, a few tiny flames flickering out now that their easy source of fuel was gone.

"That was very violent," Nebit said needlessly, eyes wide. "Was that intentional?"

"Well..." Harry responded after a moment. "I think the word was _Monile_, not _Monilis, a_fter all. It's been a while since I learned any of this, give me a break." He shook his hand, which had been uncomfortably close to the fire. He repaired the table as he thought about what he'd seen, even in the brief moment the spell had worked. "I know where she is. I will leave immediately."

"To where?"

Harry looked at Nebit neutrally. "She's at least twenty miles away, and in a direction I've never gone before. I'll grab some transportation and go; I can catch up before they get any further. You stay here."

"Heru..." the Queen said. "These people clearly wish for you to come to them. I know you must be aware of that. Is it wise to fulfill their request?"

"They want me to come," Harry agreed. "That's what this is all about, I suspect. But they don't know what they're asking for. I'll be fine."

* * *

Sometimes, Harry really wished he had his invisibility cloak with him. Even though he could use a Disillusionment spell, that wouldn't help too much when he was moving, since the sky itself would seem to flex and shimmer to any onlookers.

Sixteen people were gathered together around a small rocky outcrop, most of them wielding various spears or sharp knives, and at any one time at least six were keeping watch, which made approaching them very difficult. Quite a few also carried some kind of shield, apparently leathery, usually strapped to their back, though he had seen a few slip it onto their arm in a single movement.

Ahaneith was nowhere in sight.

He could take out one or two, Harry was sure, but that would bring everyone else right down on top of him. Even casting as quickly as he could, he didn't really have a spell that would keep him completely unharmed; one or two pokes, maybe, but not a proper spear aimed at his head. Even with his best spells, he'd probably only disarm or kill half before they all descended on him like a pack of wild dogs. Even _that_ was manageable with the right combination of spells, but he couldn't afford that _and_ protect Ahaneith. She had to be freed first.

He was momentarily disturbed by how easily he accepted the scenario in which all these men died. Death was cheap, in this age, and he'd almost gotten used to that fact of life, even if his modern-day view of things abhorred the idea of murder as a necessity. He supposed he'd been in this particular situation before: he'd been the one who ultimately killed Voldemort, even if it was indirectly. Many Death Eaters had died, too, and the only one he could remotely understand, even a little, was Professor Snape. All the rest were criminals, and he wouldn't shed a tear over the end of their murderous career.

Each of these men was already marked to be killed as well, and for much the same reasons as the Death Eaters had been. They murdered, kidnapped, stole, all of which had severe penalties both in this time and in the distant future. This was compounded by the fact that the target was the royal family, not just a minor village. This was treason, plain and simple, and the army would have been sent after the attackers if Harry hadn't taken the opportunity to go after them himself. If he let them go, here, they would most likely meet their end before the border; if they didn't, they would go to do this again, to kill and steal, he had no doubt about that.

Even as his stomach protested against the idea of throwing around the nasty stuff he knew that he couldn't afford to hold back. It was a frustrating realization, but he really didn't have the tools to easily defeat this many people, even if they were Muggles. Most of his spells were all about one-on-one duels, which were rather uncommon in these times, to say the least. Maybe he could apparate in, grab Ahaneith, and get back to the capital; he was close enough that the distance wouldn't matter much, and he'd done side-along before with Dumbledore.

One of the men stood up and glanced around with sharp eyes, passing over Harry's position without stopping. He set a few steps towards one of the crude tents along the rocks and said something in a language Harry didn't understand. He received a response from inside in the same language, then turned and walked to a crude campfire that had mostly burned out, kicking at it derisively.

"Where are you, Ahaneith?" Harry muttered to himself as he slowly circled the camp, glancing inside the tents whenever possible, keeping out of sight. Most of the tents were empty. It was clear that the group had no fear of being found by Egyptian guards – or if they were, they had plenty of weapons to defend themselves. They had to be a lure, Harry knew. A lure for him in particular. They probably expected him to arrive in full regalia, a small army behind him. That was not going to happen.

As Harry finally made his way around half the camp, he spotted Ahaneith. Tied up with a strip of cloth over her mouth, she hung from a pole in one of the hindmost tents, the very same that the bald man had visited only a short time ago. "Just sixteen people in the way," he murmured, scowling. "Figures."

The only way he could pull this off was with a distraction. He needed everyone far too busy to tend to the prisoner. Still, he knew distractions. You didn't spend years at the same school as the Weasley Twins without picking up a few ways to cause mayhem. He'd just have to be quick about it; really quick.

As he quickly sprinted sideways along the perimeter of the camp, the little bush that he had been hiding behind caught fire in a sudden intense blaze. Hot air rippled over the camp as it turned into a huge inferno, alighting the few dried-up trees in its vicinity as well. As the fire grew, a great thundering roar that resembled a lion's erupted from it. Half a dozen captors froze in fright; the rest ran for their lives from the spreading flames as the first tents caught fire from the embers spread by his distraction. Perfect.

Harry made a run for it. He passed two people who were simply staring at the conflagration, stunning a third as he came close; the man dropped on the spot. Spurts of colour began to ripple out of the flames, and sharp cracks resounded, like a dozen wizards apparating at once. As the chaos increased, Harry kept himself low to the ground and made it to Ahaneith's tent.

"There you are," Harry said softly as he slipped into the makeshift tent. Ahaneith was beaten up and blood covered at least half a dozen poorly healed wounds, but she was breathing. He let out a relieved breath he didn't know he was holding, slicing the primitive ropes used to tie her up with barely a gesture. She almost dropped to the ground without resistance before Harry caught her.

"H...Heru?"

"Don't worry. I came to rescue you," Harry said as he looked her over, smiling reassuringly. She wasn't in good shape – he had no idea what apparating would do to someone who was as cut up as she was, and he would prefer not to find out. Splinching wasn't too terrible in the future, but the kind of reconstructive surgery that mediwizards could pull off were far out of his reach. Portkeys were out too; that kind of rough ride was tough on a normal person, and with his poor aim, he had no idea where he'd end up. Harry turned to the outside with a gloomy expression as the fiery display slowly died down. "I'm going to get you out of here."

"No, leave this place!" Ahaneith said with difficulty. "Leave! It is –"

"A trap, I know," Harry responded easily. "I've got them distracted. Come on."

"No, you do not understand –" She coughed, and flecks of blood sprayed out. "They have someone like _you. _Someone with _power._"

Harry's eyes widened, and he glanced over his shoulder. A wizard? His little display would have certainly stood out to them even more so than to the Muggles. He had to get Ahaneith out of here; if a Muggle fight could have serious collateral damage, that was nothing compared to a serious wizard's duel. "Don't worry about that, that's my business. You just rest; I'll have you out of here in no time. Your brother misses you, you know."

Ahaneith smiled thinly, incapable of keeping herself upright. "Silly man." Harry wasn't sure if she was talking about her brother, or him. Either way, he had to get her out. Carefully he lifted her up, letting her lean heavily on his shoulder. He used his free hand to aim his wand as he got out of the tent. The first few of the attackers had noticed his presence and converged on him; the flames still flickered everywhere, but they were no longer spreading.

"Stay back!" Harry barked as a few of the men approached. With a strong sideways swipe of his wand he cut a shallow trench into the earth, between him and the invaders. "Stay there, or I _will_ retaliate."

The first of the thrown spears glanced off his foot, the second only barely missed his thigh; Harry quickly knocked the next one out of the sky before it could arrive. They were fast – they'd been so swift that even with spells, he'd barely been able to dodge in time. Harry moved sideways towards the way he'd entered the camp, dragging Ahaneith along. She breathed heavily, blood seeping out of many smaller wounds that were ripped open by the movement.

"Hold on," Harry said softly, glaring at the attackers. He only had one free hand, and he couldn't move much without leaving Ahaneith alone. There was no choice.

Decision made, Harry's spells were vicious and merciless, slamming into the nearest opponents fast enough to bowl them over. Marked for death, Harry thought, as two of the attackers collapsed soundlessly to the ground. A third cried out in pain as, from nowhere, a wound suddenly appeared from hip to neck, spraying blood in a wide arc across his fellow criminals. Harry paused momentarily to stare in horror. Even though he'd intended it, throwing that kind of power around was disturbing, to say the least. He pushed past his revulsion and conjured a solid steel shield in front of him, protecting Ahaneith entirely from flying spears as he let her calm down for a moment.

"There's still a lot of them left, so stay down," Harry said, and his voice sounded surprisingly steady, more so than he'd expected. He'd just killed a few people – shouldn't he feel remorseful? Just then two heavy thuds hit the shield. "Just hold on, alright? I'll get you back home."

Ahaneith smiled slightly, holding her stomach, where blood seeped between her fingers. "I will..."

"Stop fighting, or you will both die!" one of the invaders yelled in Egyptian, his jagged spear and decorated knife far more elaborate than anyone else's was. It was the bald figure that Harry had seen earlier, and apparently he was what passed as a leader in these parts. "You are surrounded on all sides, false prophet!" the man spat, glowering.

Harry momentarily flinched when he realized there were two more men behind him, and several others were circling around as well. This was getting a little too hairy for his liking. His shield was effectively useless too; he couldn't make a round one without preventing his own escape entirely, and like this it would barely be enough for Ahaneith.

"False prophet, would-be god of these filthy Egyptians," the bald man said imperiously as he stepped forward, thudding the end of his staff on the ground. "You came to release your whore from bondage, didn't you? A pitiful deity you are, to come like a thief, not as a warrior. Dishonorable, that is what you are."

"Why did you take her?" Harry retorted immediately. "What the hell do you want with her, or with me?"

"Your death, to begin with," the man answered, his eyes roving across Ahaneith with a disturbing longing all too visible in his expression. "You wield a power that is beyond man's, one that only prophets may wield, and you do it for the _enemy_. We cannot let such slights continue!"

Great – prehistoric witch-burners. "I heard that one of you is magical too," Harry said immediately, narrowing his eyes. "Isn't that right? Did you bring one of these 'prophets' with you? Let me speak with them, rather than with you."

The bald man sneered as he glanced around himself. "Don't dare to compare yourself to your betters, changeling. You are not worthy of his presence." He stepped closer again. "Your woman was pliant enough while she was in our possession. She told us many things about the atrocities that you commit. You are the voice that whispers in the Pharaoh's ear, are you not? The one who decides that the borders of your land must be cleansed of us. You destroyed our livelihoods, maligned our countrymen."

"You're mistaken." Harry didn't know what he was talking about, truly; if this was some group that annoyed with his presence at the court, they had some awfully skewed perceptions of his role. More than likely it was this prophet, this wizard, that had put them up to this. A rival country or sect, unwilling to tolerate a competitor. "I've never met you before," he added after a while. "I don't even know who you _are._"

"A poor memory is a poor excuse."

The bald man glanced aside at the person who had spoken. "Prophet! You would let him look upon you?"

The prophet, Harry thought, looked completely ordinary. Shirtless, pudgy, and with a pronounced beard, he looked like much of the rest of the rowdy bunch. The only difference there was the pendant that hung on his forehead, in the shape of an eye – the third eye. He held a long and intricate staff in his hand with an end fitted with tassels of hair, and it was painted yellowish gold.

"Please tell me you're not another fake wizard riling up other Muggles," Harry complained, more to himself than to anyone else. He helped Ahaneith to her feet, ready to apparate out if it became necessary. Rather the risk of injuring her further than to face getting killed here, he figured.

"The man Heru, of the town of Per-Bastet, of the city of Tjenu, Advisor to the Pharoah," the man said, his voice low and carrying a pronounced accent, though Harry had no idea from where. "I am Mamre, prophet of the god Heru. You have defiled his name, taken it for your own!"

"I didn't name myself that," Harry spat back. "Do I have to go over this _again?_ Is this why you're out here, kidnapping people? Because of my _name_?"

The man raised his hand, and with a deafening thud, Harry and Ahaneith were slammed back against the ground by a wave of force, of wind. Well, that answered one question.

"Definitely a wizard," Harry wheezed. He was up on his feet in an instant, his overpowered cutting curse still fresh in his mind. The groan of the spell as it tore into the ground, narrowly missing Mamre's position, drove everyone back. The so-called prophet held his staff in front of him, almost like you'd do with a wand. Wood and tassels of unidentified hair - Harry figured it was the closest equivalent to a wand that existed in this time. If he researched it, he figured he'd probably discover the hair was from some magical creature.

"Mamre – as you can see, I have this power just as you. I don't claim to be a god, as you say. Let us go." Harry said, gesturing to his wand. "We have no quarrel."

"No." The man slammed his hand forward again – this time Ahaneith was pulled across the sand at speed, bouncing across the soil with cries of pain as streaks of blood were left behind. Harry was at her position in an instant, grabbing her by the shoulder, and fired a concussive blast that threw half of Mamre's crew off their feet. "Now you've gone too damn far."

Harry's eyes met Mamre's, and for a split second they both knew exactly how far the other would go. The prophet's were pitiless depths. He wasn't a proper wizard – he was a conman and a crook who used his magic to control the people around him, to do his bidding. He was an archetypal Tom Riddle, without the ability to live up to world-domination aspirations. Harry's eyes, in turn, were as green as they ever were, but filled with anger and even a little pity. That was perhaps far more disturbing than emptiness. Mamre could only hesitate for a split second before Harry spoke.

"_Crucio_."

The scream was horrifying in its weakness, for that meant the spell worked better than it had ever done before. Mamre fell to his knees, his face displaying such an expression of suffering that Harry couldn't look at it. High-pitched shrieks escaped and Harry finally moved his wand away, looking down on his victim as he vomited up his last meal. He didn't flinch when his victim grasped for his staff to pull himself up, shuddering in pain.

"You're untrained," Harry said after a moment, the urge to end it right there almost overpowering him. "You've been abusing what control you have. This magic of yours, it's more like controlled accidents than actually channeling it into anything meaningful. You thought that I'd be harmless, just another phony, but it is you that's the fake." He shook his head. "Did your power overwhelm your common sense? If you're a prophet of Heru, as you say, why would you attack your own country, your own people?"

"This Egypt is not my country," Mamre snarled. "Unified? Hah!"

"Merlin, it's about politics," Harry muttered, glancing at Ahaneith. Politics or not, it had gone way beyond a little dispute. "You're from Upper Egypt, I take it. Lower Egypt is under Heru's protection, as you well know. Now that Lower and Upper egypt are unified, he's protector of _all_ of Egypt. You should know that."

Mamre very slowly pulled himself up, trembling from the after-effects of Harry's curse. "Yet the southern cities starve, while the north thrives, and claims blessings from their mighty protector," he responded. "You are the parasite upon this kingship. Before you, the Pharaoh ruled with a strong hand, and struck down rebellion were it arose. After _you _came, he speaks of tolerance of heathens from beyond our borders, tolerance of the filthy southerners and those from the northern seas!" He faltered. "So easily you lay down your law on me, with force, to protect your own. But not for us, not for the south. Is the rivalry with Set still so great?"

"The negotiations with the south were for _peace," _Harry said, incredulous, eyes ablaze. "You came here to kill because you disagreed with the king's politics? That's treason."

"Treason? Hardly. Your presence has led to the destruction of many villages when the enemy 'peacefully' stole everything in sight. When the king's army looked away, they came. The foreigners listen only to _power_, and you will not wield it against them. But I will." He snapped his fingers with difficulty, and a puff of dust blew outward around him. "There are few things that I can do, alone. If I could take out the thorn in our side, the one who had destroyed our lives, I will have fulfilled my purpose. Or, if that is not possible, I will take from him that something just as precious as what we lost."

"Don't do anything stupid," Harry warned. He concentrated on Tjenu, on the palace. He was close enough, probably, to apparate there.

Harry's hand snapped forward at the same time as Mamre's. The latter's wandless blast was pitiful compared to the last. Harry's spell slashed through the shock wave like a knife through butter, its sickly red standing out sharply as it traveled. It impacted just before Harry vanished.

Mamre hit the ground hard, dead.

Harry barely caught himself as the intense twisting sensation of apparition made way for the terrace of the palace, and he sighed in relief. Then Ahaneith's knees buckled, and she fell out of his arms, unmoving.

* * *

**Author's Note:** New chapter for you all. :) Next chapter has the first larger timeskip at last. o


	9. Facets

**Chapter 9 - Facets**

Ahaneith's knees buckled, and she fell out of his arms, unmoving. Harry stared in shock, dropping to his knees. Her eyes were closed, and it seemed like she was sleeping, but something was wrong, horribly wrong. "Ahaneith? AHANEITH?"

"Advisor!" One of the guards approached, staring. "Heru, what happened?"

He glanced up, breathing heavily. "Get someone, anyone, who knows how to tend injuries." He turned away, reaching over to check Ahaneith's pulse, trying to remember how that worked. There, very weakly, was a soft pressure under his fingers, rhythmic if slow. Good. Then, he paused in horror. She was not breathing.

The guard rushed away as Harry tried to remember what he knew about this sort of thing, about reviving someone. He recalled Professor Slughorn, who had mentioned something similar, and the spell he had used. He raised his wand. "Anapneo!"

Ahaneith convulsed once, and her breath escaped, but that was it. He tried the spell again, but got nothing, this time. It made some sense, Harry realized; the spell was meant to remedy choking, not serve as an alternative to someone's lungs. This alone was not going to work. Muggle methods, then.

It had been more than a decade since he had even read any Muggle publications, or watched the television for any length of time, but he remembered vaguely how resuscitation was supposed to work. Make sure there's no spine damage, clear the airway, and then tilt the head back. After that, well, there was no time for shame. He took a deep breath, and kissed her.

Helping someone breathe turned out to be harder work than Harry thought; he was quickly out of breath as he forced air in and out of Ahaneith's lungs, hoping dearly that it would be enough to get her breathing on her own again. Somewhere during this, other people entered the room, but he ignored them. Mechanically he kept doing the same steps, feeling that her heart still beat, though only barely.

"Leave him be," an authoritative voice said, and Harry realized with a start that it was the Pharaoh himself who had found him on the path leading up to the palace. A guard backed away, and Harry realized the man had been about to pull him away from Ahaneith's side. He supposed that they would not be familiar with this technique.

Suddenly Harry realized that he felt movement. Ahaneith blinked drowsily at him, her expression filled with pain as well as wonder. He backed away, and almost cheered when she took in a shuddering breath. "Were you…?"

"She is alive!" one of the guards exclaimed.

Harry sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair as he stared at Ahaneith, and he grinned victoriously. "It worked! The kiss of life actually worked!" He glanced up at the Pharaoh with a shiver. "We have to talk, immediately."

"Heru…" Ahaneith croaked.

"After this," Harry amended swiftly.

* * *

**TWO DAYS LATER - 3046 B.C.E.**

Harry looked at Nebit tiredly, rubbing his forehead. "I brought her home and revived her. If I had to guess, I would say the shock of Mamre's skill alongside her poor health were what nearly killed her," he said tiredly. "That doesn't mean she's fine, though. She's weak from dehydration and probably some beatings, but that's not the worst of it." He frowned. "She's got an infection."

"What is an infection?"

Harry was pretty sure how Ancient Egyptians would describe infectious diseases: Curses from the gods. He probably should not lead with that explanation. "She has a sickness of the lungs. I believe she received it at the camp." Harry reflected that she had probably gotten it from the men at the rebel camp, either through some wound, or through saliva. He realized he would probably have contracted the same disease as well, were it not for his superior immune system; wizards almost never got Muggle illnesses.

"Will she recover?"

Harry sighed. "I don't know anything to heal her directly. The herbal treatments probably help some, but I have no idea how long the sickness will take to go away on its own. Sometimes these things can linger. I can keep her comfortable, though. It should be clear that she is on the mend within a few days."

Nebit nodded. "The gates of the underworld had already swung open, so it is no wonder that she took in some of the breaths of the dead."

"Poetic," Harry said as he gazed over Ahaneith's sleeping form. "She will probably remain in these chambers for days, or even a week or more. She can use the big bed. I'll conjure a sofa or something. It's the least I can do, after what happened. This room's far more protected than practically anywhere else."

Nebit nodded in understanding. "So, the assassination attempt on my person….?"

"The same people that kidnapped Ahaneith were responsible," Harry said with a nod. "It was meant as an attack on me, as the advisor to the Pharaoh. I've used all I know of protective spells to make this whole wing impenetrable to anyone who isn't explicitly allowed, so they can't waltz in again. I'm also planning on working on that with a student of mine, when he gets there. Protective spells would be really useful to develop further." He paused. "Well, I'll be damned."

"What is it?"

"A stray thought... Never mind." He smiled as he turned away. "I was just thinking that there was a certain irony about it, but I guess you'd have to be me to get that. Could you go retrieve a bucket of fresh water for me, so I can replace the towels? She's still running a slight fever."

Nebit nodded and grabbed the plastic object from the ground before hurrying off. The first time Harry had conjured one of those, Nebit had been poking at the sturdy material for half an hour, intrigued by its unusual properties; at last, it seemed he had gotten over the novelty of the twentieth century.

"You've been out for more than a day," Harry murmured as he dabbed Ahaneith's forehead carefully. "I could really use a sign, right about now, that you're still in there." He grasped her hand, and squeezed gently. "I will take care of your worrying brother, and everything else. There's violence brewing, I think."

Ahaneith sighed, and she slowly opened her eyes. Harry let out a sigh of relief as she tried to speak, but for the moment it was too much.

"The Pharaoh wants to speak to me about what happened," Harry said after a moment, looking away with a frown. "I don't think I can stop him from going after the people involved. A direct attack on the palace, I imagine he would begin a war over that."

"...H-Heru," Ahaneith whispered after a moment, and she winced. She reached out with a shaky hand, and smiled. "You - will do fine."

Harry returned the smile and leaned against the bed. "I hope so."

* * *

**ONE YEAR LATER - 3046 B.C.E.**

"What do you think, Mot? Is it better or worse?" Harry raised his makeshift wand with a frown. "It doesn't do much for me, but this wood's definitely not something I usually use, so that's no surprise."

"It's... better than the other," Mot said after a moment, staring at the flickering flames of the hay in front of him; he had set it on fire with a spell, pitifully weak though it was compared to Harry's version, though he was getting better every day. "It's all little changes, though. It's hard to tell."

"Figured as much," Harry admitted. "I can't replicate the kind of art that is my own wand, and I have no way of getting more of them either. You can only get so far with crude alternatives like this." He sighed. "I suppose we should be glad that it's better than nothing, though. I was afraid that crude stuff like this wouldn't work at all, but I suppose it's more a process of refinement rather than suddenly having the perfect wand."

Mot grunted. "The others are not doing any better with theirs, you know. The most impressive magic I've seen is some sparks on command, not even a full flame."

Harry smiled as he thought of his little makeshift class, consisting of half a dozen wizards and witches that he found on his last visit to the larger cities, with more coming in over time. Although finding them was still tough, since he had to go by anecdotes of accidental magic and a fairly decent fit for some of his makeshift wands, he had managed some success of late in tracking down those who could cast a spell or two. Thus far, Mot was by far the most talented of the bunch, and he was quite proud of it.

"They're all over thirty years old," Harry said. "None of them even had an inkling of what they could do until I came along, except for what's-her-name, the one who left. You were already throwing around some serious power before all this started. It's not fair to make the comparison."

"So...?"

Harry shrugged. "I think there's a decent chance that it might take decades to figure all this out, rather than the years that I had hoped. I'm not a genius," he admitted, squatting down and staring off into the distance. "It's silly to think that wizards would suddenly be everywhere, I admit that, or that we would replicate wands in a few years. There is no culture, no shared history to draw from, and barely any written material at all. I'm just one guy who found a bunch of people willing to learn a few tricks. The best I can do is make life easier for everyone, and maybe pass on some of the things I learned. History will do the rest for me, I suppose."

"Does Ahaneith let you talk like you're already dead?" Mot asked lightly, grinning. "So morbid."

Harry looked away. "That's... complicated."

"You and her are complicated, you mean?" Mot snorted. "Ever since you literally carried her into the palace after kissing her back to life on the path, I think the whole palace has been waiting for you to marry her. Honestly, I am not sure why you have not done so yet ."

Harry looked at him darkly. "I'm gone for months on end, Mot. Probably more than that, if this war picks up. I can leave without too much fuss, when I'm alone like this. She's worrying enough, imagine if I were to settle down, and then I got called off again to the far reaches of the Earth? It would be terrifying, for both of us!"

"Are you planning on disappearing?" Mot inquired curiously. "Because you know I would go with you, wherever it was. I am certain it would be interesting. The world's even bigger than I thought, if your tales of the land across the endless waters are true. I would much like to see the new home of the Thunderbirds!"

Harry sighed. "I don't plan on leaving suddenly, but I have things to do, things to prepare for, and I'm not sure I ought to subject her to those things. Djer wants me present tonight, and I'd like to avoid getting him angry again." He shivered. "Once is quite enough."

Mot rolled his eyes. "You know, when you're not wearing that collar, I'd guess you were a street kid, like me. You don't care much for anyone's rank, or class, do you?"

"Well, I am an orphan..." Harry noted dryly.

"That's an excuse?"

"I'd hope so, or you wouldn't have anything to defend yourself," Harry replied lazily.

* * *

**6 YEARS LATER - 3040 B.C.E. **

The desert stretched out in all directions, as far as the eye could see. Even a little ways from the Nile, this desolate terrain dominated, and few small villages managed to survive here the whole year round, with nomads travelling from waterhole to waterhole, though even those were scarce. The vast majority of trading and production was done close to the mighty river that formed the heart of the country, the beating heart of the Egyptian empire.

Harry gazed out over the abandoned wastelands with a critical eye as he studied the distant dunes, where a few feeble shrubs managed to stay alive in the arid soil, though even they were suffering in the hot season. Not that there was a season that was especially cold in these parts. Harry's head and neck were covered to protect him from sunburn, even though his spells were quite capable of preventing such problems; it was for the benefit of the people who followed him, since they seemed convinced that he could suffer heatstroke without their methods. It seemed their belief in the supernatural only extended so far.

"There's about forty men left, give or take," a tall, broad-shouldered man said from his side, giving a tiny bow as he approached. Senb was a general of sorts, though the concept of a military hierarchy was pretty foreign in this time; there were just leaders and a vast army of soldiers under their commands. Not that it mattered much; other nations were even worse off, as they hadn't really conceived of standing militia at all.

"So, forty out of two-hundred? The last charge was more effective than I thought." Harry said, frowning. "Any word from the capital yet? We'll have to move the captives as soon as we can."

"No word as of yet, sir. I will inform you the moment that a bird arrives." He glanced uneasily in the direction Harry was facing. "If they have archers, this could become difficult still. There are only a few dozen soldiers in this area, and they are poorly equipped for countering ranged warfare. I doubt you would wish to send a substantial portion of the army this way, in any case."

"The rebels won't have many places to hide out here," Harry said shortly. "Even forty archers cannot counter a force that stays out of their sight at all times and is spread out. Their aim will be poor, at best. Besides, I know _exactly _where our enemy is."

"Of course; by the grace of the gods, we will be victorious."

"We will force the forty out into the open, where they cannot gain new supplies and their movements are plainly seen. The enemy will realize their predicament, and attempt to counter our assault. Then, when they fail to do so, they will surrender."

The general looked uncertain. "Surrender?"

"They are the enemy_,_ soldier, but they are still human. They are not stupid enough to keep this war going when they know they have lost. " Harry adjusted his collar and noticed the general twitching slightly. He'd probably forgotten their difference in rank for the moment. "The Nubians are encroaching on the borders, and the rebels know it. They might dislike the Pharaoh, and they may hate _me,_ but they will realize that without our fortifications, their towns are undefended. Before long, they will realize their mistake, and give in to our demands."

"They'll destroy the fortifications, if they have enough people left after this," Senb muttered. "Forty are here, but there are two-hundred still holed up across the river, not to mention the small army to the south, that is guarding their precious waterhole. They have enough to take a fort, if it came to that."

Harry shook his head. "No, they will not. Those forts have been under construction for a year, without even the slightest attack on the workers or on the supply chain. The rebels allow that incursion into their territory because their leaders are conflicted; they know that they require defensive measures against foreigners, but cannot tolerate that it comes with Egyptian rule. Perhaps the political differences will have been resolved by the time the forts are put into service, and keeping out the Nubians will be their main role."

"Yes, sir..."

"Do not take that to mean you must be merciful with these rebels," Harry said immediately. "We have made that mistake before - _I _have made that mistake before - and a soft hand led to a great many deaths. They listen to violence and to forceful invasion; any negotiation must be started by their side, for it to be genuine. The rebels will not give in until they can no longer resist, so we must keep them under pressure. Perhaps then we can finally end this bloody infighting." Harry turned away and walked back to camp, leaving Senb as lookout. "I will return in a few hours."

Things had changed a lot in the last few years, Harry reflected sourly. He had arrived in Egypt when it was at relative peace, and the Pharaoh had been receptive to his suggestions. In retrospect, he realized that many of them were coloured by his memories of what things would be like in the distant future; he had attempted to seek equality where it was possible, had stood firm on his convictions, and he had bungled up dramatically because of this. His attempts to placate the Southerners had worked, at first, but few could have suspected how strong the anti-Egyptian sentiment was in Upper Egypt, which had ceded much authority to their northern neighbours in the unification.

Looking back on it, his visit to the far north had been a mistake. Although he had forced a neutral agreement between the City of the Storms, probably renamed by now, and greater Egypt, he had effectively sown seeds of hate by removing the stabilizer that was the Thunderbirds' awesome power. Two years after his visit, internal strife had engulfed much of the region, and bands of brigands had attempted to overtake parts of Egypt, in a last desperate attempt to survive. With the Pharaoh's forces spread thin to cover the borders to the north, others had taken their chance.

Worse than the trouble in the north, though, were the unintended results of his role as the Pharaoh's advisor. Though he had enjoyed his occupation as such, it had become clear that groups from Upper Egypt had found themselves a new scapegoat. He was the catalyst for this uprising. Since the south had regularly demanded military protection with increasingly greater threats attached, Harry had been fairly dismissive of them; he had expected them to wizen up and realize that their tactic was not working. Instead they had gone to the other extreme; instead of blaming their own decisions, they blamed the system, and in particular the person who would so callously turn their requests down.

Ahaneith's kidnapping, if perhaps the most brazen of all the attempts, since it was the first, was definitely not the worst of the consequences that flowed out of this new rebellious spirit. When the first villages were destroyed and bands of rebels travelled north along the Nile, Harry had gone there and tried to stop it himself, by force. He had quickly realized it was no good; he could not be everywhere at once, and his absence at the palace did not impress the people who did actually support him.

The Pharaoh, in a moment of mercy, had decided to take control of the situation himself. He seemed convinced that the rebellion had been inevitable, and that he and Harry alike had been swept up in something that was predestined; a divine struggle. Thus, the role of advisor had been suspended until the war was over. Instead, and Harry still couldn't quite believe this, he had been put at the head of an army.

He really wished he had not agreed.

* * *

"Mot, are you in here?" Harry asked as he peeked into the largest tent of their little home base, set up near the river and well-protected on all sides. "Ah. Reading again? Do you do anything else?"

The boy glanced up in surprise. Harry caught himself: Mot was hardly a boy anymore, especially in this age. Seventeen years of age, now, Mot had grown quite a bit; he was still a bit spindly, but that was probably in part to blame on the fact that he spent a lot of time in-doors, poring over his thick tomes. He was a scholar now, in a way; far more than Harry could ever claim to be. He soaked up the Egyptian written language like a sponge; Harry was still struggling with the odd symbols, and that was probably to blame on the fact that he already had a whole writing system in his head beforehand. Mot had started essentially from scratch.

"I think we'll be homeward bound within the week," Harry noted as he removed his collar and put it on his bed; it wasn't quite as comfortable as the transfigured one he had back at Tjenu, but it did its job. "We're down to a few dozen, and they're probably not the tenacious kind. If they had any wizards around, we would have known by now. The groups across the river and at the waterhole will not last much longer, either."

"Did you expect any wizards?" Mot wondered. "With only seven at the capital, it's a miracle we're finding any at all. We are clearly not very common. Nor are these, of course." He held up his wooden club; it was made of a tree with dark wood that Harry hadn't known the name of, combined with a wad of Phoenix feathers stuffed inside. Probably just about the crudest wand that had ever existed, but at least it was mildly predictable when casting spells. He had made a few handfuls of similarly crude ones alongside it, mostly stored at the capital.

Mamre's gnarled staff flashed in his memories, and Harry winced at the memory. It had been years since that wake-up call, but it was still difficult to credit that man with anything beyond being a monster. He had been using a crude wand, of sorts, and that had led to the one he had made for Mot; magical materials combined with wood, just accurate enough to send spells in the direction one was pointing, though doing little to make them any more efficient than wandless tricks. The few wizards he'd come across so far were powerful enough to have accidental magic happen even into their adult years; they had the raw ability to make spells happen without needing much focus, so it was less of a problem. It was one of the reasons that Harry suspected there were dozens or hundreds that were slipping beneath the radar entirely, as if he was picking out only the potential Dumbledores and letting everyone else slip by.

Over the six years that he had been searching, he had found only twelve people who could use magic at all. Mot was the first, and also the strongest of them. Mamre had been next, and then another three wizards on the rebel side, each of them self-trained, and capable of little more than the basics, though they were also quite powerful with what they knew. All the rest were ones that Harry tracked down based on vague stories, after he realized that they were in fact present, without knowing it. These people were from all across Egypt, and barely any of them could do more than conjure light, even with their simplistic wands.

"_Incendio_," Mot said carefully, lighting a candle on his desk with a gout of bright flame. It was getting dark outside, and soon there would be total darkness in the camp, to keep the enemy from approaching easily. Luckily the tent's thick cloth was enough to drown out anything but the strongest of light sources. "Have you heard about Wosret, Heru?"

"Hmmm?"

"He went to sleep very early again. I believe he may be sick again." Mot frowned. "It seems that he does not have the resistance that you and I share. He is the seventh to succumb in a week."

"Some of the benefits of being a wizard," Harry muttered. He ran a hand through his hair. "Same reason that I still look young, you know. We stay pretty healthy, and we get older than most people."

Mot narrowed his eyes. "How old are you, exactly?"

Harry blinked. "Um... I skipped a few birthdays somewhere, when I was on the road. I guess it's... twenty-eightish? Pushing thirty, probably?"

"You do not look that old."

"_Old_," Harry scoffed. "It's not even properly middle-aged." He conjured a mirror for himself, feeling momentarily like Lockhart fussing over his looks. His hair was as black as it had ever been, and his scar was completely gone now, though he still couldn't quite figure out why that had happened. Though he had never managed to conjure proper glasses, he supposed he would have to just start conjuring dozens and hoping he got the prescription right by chance, but his sight seemed to be clearer these days; he wondered if his eyes had self-adjusted over time. It seemed his kind of accidental magic.

Mot was right: He didn't look like he was about thirty. If anything, he looked nigh identical to when he turned twenty-two or so, a few years after he had first arrived. Here in Egypt, thirty could be considered old for the poorer classes, particularly due to bad health and diseases. Thankfully, being a wizard insulated him from those problems pretty well, and it probably accounted for his seeming youth, too.

He vanished the mirror and glanced over Mot's papers with interest, trying to avoid thinking about the future he had left behind too much. He had not even thought about finding a way home for quite a while, and honestly it was starting to seem awfully distant to him. Even though he used the magic he had learned a lot, thinking back to his friends was now more of a vague ache than a stabbing pain of loss, and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. He supposed that it was hardly strange after nearly a decade away from them, but it still seemed like betrayal.

Harry shook his head as he realized that the material Mot was studying was just more boring reports from all over; he would receive the pertinent details soon enough. "You know what? I'll go see if I can do anything for Wosret. I brought some potions, perhaps one of them will work for him." He grabbed a little cloth bag from the corner of the tent. "Don't stay up too late, okay? Working by candlelight can't be good for your eyes."

"Yes, _master,_" Mot said mockingly. "You should really attempt to read this yourself. I tire of having to do the paperwork for you, since I know you are capable of understanding the language."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Unless you want to wade into combat yourself and get your fool head impaled on the first spear, I'd suggest you stop whining." He chuckled. "I promise, I'll figure that stuff out one of these days. Perhaps when the war is over."

Mot just gave a long-suffering sigh, and got back to work.

* * *

**FIVE DAYS LATER - 3040 B.C.E. **

"_Diffindo!" _Harry snapped as he dropped to his knees, a stray arrow glancing over him as a strangled yelp confirmed a hit. He did not wait around to confirm his success, but quickly disillusioned himself again, edging forward slowly.

The desert did not grant much protection, and with more than a dozen combatants nearby, he could not afford to be stingy with his spells, magical or not, a lucky hit could still kill him easily enough. He raised his wand as his eyes roved over the sandy hills with scattered bushes, all of them looking parched in the scorching heat of the sun. This was the hottest time of day, and the horizon seemed to waver whenever it came in sight from between the tall hills. Nobody sane would be out right now, for fear of severe sunburn.

Harry used that to his advantage. The desert was hot, sure, but he could protect himself from the nastiest effects with some of his most simplistic spells, and hide himself from sight. If anyone saw the slightly wavering outline of disillusionment, they would probably attribute it to the heat rising from the sands.

Honestly, he did not need to be here at all. With a small army only an hour away, the rebels would have given up soon enough; the only reason they were still here was because Harry did not care to have another bloodbath like the one from the previous year, in which nearly four-hundred people had met their end, of which more than two dozen could be attributed to him personally. Two dozen deaths: It seemed bizarre.

Before he came back here, before Voldemort, he had not really killed anyone. Even he was debatable given the fact that he essentially ended his own life by casting the Killing Curse, and having it reflected back on him. Beyond that, he could really only mention Quirrell, but he was not sure if he should count. Yet, back here in Egypt, he had faced Mamre, Ahaneith's kidnapper, and knocked him dead with sheer concussive force. He had gone back to the wizard's campsite after he had brought Ahaneith home, and found him among half a dozen other dead bodies. Some of those were doubtlessly killed by Mamre when he wielded his magic like a club, but not all of them. At least two or three of the people there had died by his hand.

Harry wondered what Dumbledore would have thought of the fact that he had done so, or that he had honestly felt no remorse about it. Oh, he was upset that he had done it, at the time, but he could only blame himself so much before realizing that the people in question were murderers and kidnappers, and would happily have chopped him up into bits if he had done nothing. Was Mamre all that different from Death Eaters, using magic for illicit means? The Pharaoh and others were certainly happy to know that powerful enemies were no longer a trouble.

He had put the question to Ahaneith, almost two years after those events. Ahaneith, to Harry's surprise, had considered this a no-brainer: If someone tries to kill you, you kill them right back. Harry had realized only then just how different the world worked, thousands of years before his own time, and that it was his clinging to twentieth century ideals was what got him into this trouble in the first place. Equality was not common, here. Class systems in particular were hard to transition between, and Harry himself only got an easy boost because of his magic, more than his abilities. Forms of slavery existed, even if few would necessarily call it that, since people knew practically from birth that they would work till their death on the same farm or for the same master. Keeping your enemy alive was a death sentence here, since they would turn around and stab you in the back, and there was no desire to rehabilitate those who would try to commit such crimes.

In many ways, though well-meaning, Harry's compromising decisions as Advisor had ticked off the south quite a bit, and destabilized a system that had been maintained for decades. Demanding courtesy from everyone, though a great equalizer, had only made things worse with them, as they had already decided that Harry was a threat to them. Trying to avoid conflict at all costs had led to a bloody civil war, with thousands now dead by the spear.

Mamre, of course, also came to mind. He had tried to talk it out, tried to reason it out with his opponent, and he had nearly gotten Ahaneith killed in the crossfire. He could not afford to make the same mistake again. Harry had decided not to reveal everything to her, because it was not relevant, but she had made his decision about this easier. Egypt had not been transplanted to his present, he had been moved to it. He knew that the world would only slowly edge towards the ideals he remembered, and that for now, this was how it would be; bloody and violent by necessity.

Thus, when he found himself under Pharaoh's mandate to lead a military mission, he had decided to bite his tongue and agreed immediately. He had taken a spear for himself, and used it. That first conflict, he had decided not to hesitate about taking down those who were trying to kill him or the soldiers under his command. He had only killed those who were about to take out the Pharaoh's troops, and he had not used dark magic, but he had done so without flinching outright. Four dead, and dozens slowed down, or stunned, or confused enough by his spells to be taken down by someone else. He had felt like washing for a week.

It was not until he returned to camp, and a dozen of his soldiers came to drag him out of his tent to have a beer with them that he wondered if he had finally found something he had been missing all along, here in the past. A certain understanding of how they lived their lives, how visceral and real their daily life was compared to his own aloof life in the palace, scarcely different from the halls of Hogwarts, back home. Still fearful of what he had done and willing to forget it for the evening, he had drunk with the rest, happily putting refilling charms on mugs just to see the amazed looks from the others.

The next day he had vomited all over himself and Mot had laughed at him for what seemed like hours, but he honestly did not care. He had gone back out a day later alongside one of the other generals, if that was the right word, and fought again. To prove to himself that he was not wrong about his newfound realization.

"Come out!" Harry snapped as he saw a shadow move across the sand, since the sun was high overhead, barely anything cast a shadow at all, so anything was bad news. "Come out, or you die here." He cancelled his disillusionment charm, and stepped forward.

Gingerly, a man in a dirty loincloth and wearing a ratty old vests made his way around the dune, eyes wide as he stared at Harry. His spear trembled in his hand as he looked around nervously. He was clearly lost on what he was supposed to do. The man probably knew who he was: His voice was well-known enough after using _Sonorus_ more than once. That was exactly what would make him hesitate. Harry could deflect spears like they were nothing.

The man stared at Harry like they had seen a ghost, or a demon. _'Or a god,' _Harry added wryly. There was small cult that believed him to be a literal manifestation of the god Heru, even if his personal denial had not done them any favours of late. It seemed like the group surged up every two years or so, though, whenever people were looking for something new to gossip about. His free use of magical spells made the association an easy one to make.

"Drop the spear, and put your hands on your head," Harry said slowly. He walked forward but kept his eye out for any other people hiding in the blind spots; he had fallen into traps before. The man trembled but did not loosen his grip; Harry silently cast _Expelliarmus, _and the spear ripped itself free, eliciting a startled yelp that was cut short as the man glanced back towards Harry.

"Can you take a message to whoever is leading this bunch?"

The man stumbled. "...Yes."

"Let him meet me here. Alone." He glanced up towards the dunes, and frowned. "He is near, I am sure of it. Be quick." He waved his hand. "Go."

The ratty fellow nodded, and Harry was uncomfortably reminded of Peter Pettigrew for a moment. He turned, slinking off as quickly as he could, leaving his spear behind. Even compared to Harry's own, one that was never used, this one was poorly made, seemingly tied together with little to no care. It made sense: The rebels had been cut off from home territory for a while now, and their supplies had to be running low.

Today, he would end this, one way or another. Harry knew that the rebel forces were dwindling, and everyone already knew they had lost, including they themselves. There was a good chance that the rebellion had known of their defeat before they even started; but victory was not what they were going for. With this war, they had put the south back on the map. Even if Tjenu itself was technically part of the old Upper Egypt as well, it was true that the region had been dwindling of late, and this could well lead to a resurgence of development there. Clearly the people were spirited and strong enough to stand up for themselves, and strength was certainly valued in this culture. It was ironic, really, that Upper Egypt had conquered the north not so many decades ago, and already it seemed as if they had lost after all.

"Heru of Tjenu, Thunder-speaker," a baritone voice announced and Harry took in the new arrival, a dark-skinned man in a thick grey robe that protected his skin from the sharp sun. A red sash was bound around his middle on which hung a long bronze knife. He raised his chin defiantly.

"Terte, leader of the rebel faction," Harry responded, realizing who he was talking to. "When I asked for a leader, I did not expect _you _to show up_._" He shook his head. "You were among _this _little band, not among the hundreds that still amass across the river? They might even have the chance to hold on for a few more weeks..."

Terte raised an eyebrow, drawing his knife and raising it before him. "You have surprised me greatly, Heru. If I had known how brutal you could be on the battlefield, I might not have strode upon it with you." He grinned, his teeth gleaming brightly from under his cowl. "So compromising in the halls of the palace, yet so forthright when blood is spilt... You were born under a red moon, were you not?"

"Are you going to try and kill me?" Harry cocked his head to the side. "You know I would win."

"This was never about killing you," Terte said shortly. "Tell me, what do you know of the history of Heru, the god of the Pharaohs? What do you know of his history with our people? You, as myself, are an outsider to this place, yet have claimed it for your own, a home away from your birthplace. My skin is dark, yours is light, that is a small difference." He stepped forward boldly, his knife still raised before him. "Heru was told by Isis, his mother, to guard the people from Set, who had killed Osiris, his father. Heru had many battles with Set over a long period, in part because it was about more than family squabbles. The contest was to decide the rightful ruler of Egypt. Heru represented Lower Egypt as its patron, and Set was the one who stood for Upper Egypt."

"...You see yourself as Set?"

"Set took watch over us, the people of the desert, and does so to this day." Terte nodded slowly. "He bides his time until the conflict reignites, until his victory can be complete."

Harry's hand slipped to his necklace, the falcon he had made and enchanted himself. "You were simply looking for an excuse to begin a war, weren't you? The one who came to the palace and started this mess, he was doing it for the same reasons. The old conflict."

"This land is united, in name only. It is, in essence, divided. As long as the Typhon and the Falcon clash, it cannot be anything else. One must be victorious in the end, and the victory must be drawn in blood. In death."

Harry shook his head tiredly. "You will be brought to Tjenu," he said. "The Pharaoh himself will decide what becomes of you. Possibly he will leave your fate for me to decide. If Set wishes to come and challenge me, then tell him to do so one on one."

"The spawn of Heru thinks to judge me?" The man shook his head, smiling. "Kill me, if you must. I will watch with glee from beyond."

Terte moved so suddenly and gracefully that Harry could only barely hop back, conjuring a magical shield that only barely deflected the blow. Before he could fully realize what happened, a dozen new faces popped up everywhere around him, and arrows were flying. Harry's hand flew up before they could reach him this time, and they burst against the air, solidified, with a sound like a gong.

Harry was not very surprised by the sudden attack. The fatalistic words of the Nubian immigrant across from him had already sounded too much like an epitaph. Harry drew his wand sideways across the sky as he took in his foes, a spell barely mumbled before it flashed out like lightning. The illumination was intense for a few moments then died down again as three people crumpled down to the ground, unconscious.

Harry's wand slashed out again before his opponents could regroup, and he dragged it upwards through the air, almost like it was heavier than it ought to be. At once, the desert sprang alive: The sand roiled underfoot, and dozens of creatures burst out to find new hiding places. Serpents, scorpions, they swarmed outwards as their home was used as a weapon. The wave of sand gushed over two people, and they vanished.

Panicked yells resounded as the hills around Harry suddenly cascaded downwards - avalanches of sand, rushing around him, uncontrolled but deadly. The only one who remained safe, on one of the only pieces of stable ground, was Harry himself. With a single gesture, the sand stopped - more than half of his enemies were buried, entombed in the earth.

Six people still survived, and even after the very soil came to take them down, they refused to hold back. Probably because they believed that it would not matter, in the end. That was true enough.

"Throw down your spears," Harry called. He raised his wand, and a malevolent red glow sparked into existence at the end of his wand. He had only replicated this particular spell a year or two before, and it was his most powerful. He had only used it once in battle, and that had been quite enough. He saw the fear in the eyes of the enemy, well aware what that glow predicted.

Dark magic, and the most monstrous kind. Fiendfyre.

Very slowly, the enemy complied, and threw down their weapons, staring fearfully at Harry as he stepped forward. He let the glow fade, but his message was clear enough to them. "You will be taken to Tjenu, where you will be tried. I hear that manual labor is a popular punishment for the misguided, with death for the traitor. You might want to rethink your loyalties."

It was right then that Harry realized that someone was missing - someone he definitely hadn't buried in his attack. It was almost too late - Terte charged at him with a yell, and whirled his blade with great speed, catching Harry in the midriff, though the metal scraped along his strengthened tunic, enhanced with charms as it was. Harry slammed his hand down, diverting the deadly metal from the holes in his armor, and planted his wand firmly against the man's neck. Before Harry could react and stun him, though, he lunged back, pulling Harry with him.

As he fell, Harry's mind raced: A shielding spell would be less than useful right now, without being able to get room between him and his attacker. If he got a hit in with his spear, it could all be over: Even he could not heal from getting stabbed in the head, which was less than protected. But - the man had him right now. Before he had fully thought it through, he apparated.

For a split second there was total silence, and the world warped around him like it was twisted up into strange shapes, turned inside out and beaten with a club. Then, things righted themselves. Harry's feet landed on solid ground, and he almost crumpled as Terte's weight dragged him down. Thankfully, the man let him go in an instant after cramping up. It wasn't until Harry turned that he realized what he had done.

Terte was with him - but not all of him. He was bleeding - a lot - from where his legs were supposed to be. He had _splinched _the man. He winced as Terte suddenly wailed: The pain must have registered right then. Before he could think twice, he stunned the man, and went to work on closing the wounds. Preventing him from bleeding out was within his power, but the legs - those were gone. He had no clue how to repair a splinching like this, and certainly not on a time limit. The loose bodyparts would probably be found anywhere between their last position and the camp, and briefly he wondered if the men he had left behind would still see two detached limbs standing there in the sand.

Harry looked at Terte's suddenly peaceful visage, and was troubled. The man's followers might survive out in the wilderness, or they would be transferred back to some other part of the country to work for their release, but Terte would not get such an honour. The Nubian would be publicly executed, probably, to show that the rebellion was over.

He had removed the man's legs, but the Pharaoh would remove his head.

* * *

Some hours had passed when Harry arrived back in his main camp, ignoring the whispering of the troops behind him. The rumor that he had taken out twelve men single-handedly had already spread like wildfire; considering they already had nicknames for him based on his activities in the far north, and as a teacher of newfound wizards, it was remarkable that they weren't being louder.

"Heru," Sam said in recognition as he nodded. "I heard who you brought back with you – I'm impressed." He smiled, then glanced behind him. "There's someone... waiting for you, I think."

"For me?" Harry asked, and followed Sam's gaze. His heart almost seemed to jump out of his chest when he noticed the very recognizable person that was leaning against the wall of a makeshift mud brick building, to store supplies. The man in question was staring right back at him. The graying hair over the intense gaze told him enough; the black cat that sat at his feet just made it clearer. Khnurn.

"Years of searching, and he shows up right in front of my face?" Harry muttered as he shook his head. "I think you're right, Sam. Go warn Mot, will you? Tell him that I'll be taking care of something else, and he should take over."

Sam nodded, looking warily at Khnurn before he left.

Before Harry had properly thought about what he would ask, he was across the street, his eyes glued to the figure that watched him approach with a smile, his hands in his crudely stitched pockets. The man had a leathery hat pulled over his head to block the sun's rays, with only a few gray locks escaping from under it. He raised his eyebrows as Harry practically bowled into him.

"You again," Harry said as he reached the man, prodding him in the chest with a finger. "It's been-"

"More than half a decade," Khnurn agreed amicably. He looked similar to how Harry remembered, though the old man had ditched his white suit in favour of something more practical; he could not quite recall the last time they had met, since he had been indisposed at the time, but he had probably worn the same. Harry realized with a start that the man had spoken English again, a language that Harry himself barely ever used anymore. Khnurn looked at him knowingly. "You have made quite the name for yourself, haven't you? I'm impressed."

"How can you speak this language?" Harry inquired sharply, ignoring the compliment. "Did you come with me, from the future? Are you stuck here too?"

"You refuse to ask the right questions," Khnurn said with exasperated amusement as he sat down on a large rock that formed the edge of a small garden. "But, if you must know about my English: Languages are easy to learn, for some. I have always had a knack for them, that's why I travel all across the world, in fact, since I can understand almost anyone. English might not be invented _yet, _but it exists, all the same. That's why I know it."

Harry frowned. "That doesn't make any sense."

"I am a wizard of sorts," Khnurn admitted. "Those you found are not the first around, you know. Magic has been with the human species for as long as it exists, perhaps even longer than that. Sometimes, like in you, it can be manipulated to do a vast number of things. There are relatively few people who can manage that, especially without a proper focus, like your wand. In your day, as I understand it, this is the primary form of magic. Here it is not. Natural magic, specialized in a single direction, that's the rule."

"Mamre," Harry realized. "He could only do the one thing."

"He could learn other spells, I suppose, but they would be infinitely weaker," Khnurn said, shrugging. "None of those spells would be as powerful as the one he developed naturally, the one he was born with. A lot of people have accidents in youth that suggest their future development: in this age, that's even more true. Those who first toss things over with their magic, will find themselves locked into that type of magic for the rest of their lives. Even if they are not, it's bound to be their strongest skill."

Harry shook his head. "Are you sure? I remember colouring people's hair, growing my own back, getting myself out of trouble via levitation, that sort of thing. Those really aren't my best skills."

"Perhaps you will yet figure out what they have in common," Khnurn said. "Regardless, that was not all I meant to say. What I meant was that there have been pockets of magical thought throughout history, though most of them evaporated, forgotten in the mists of time that extend back far further than anyone would guess. Those people discovered how to control the weather, and then lost the aptitude again. These ancient people who thought to rule the sky were destroyed by their own greed. The remnants of their power are still here, but that is all. Creations without a creator."

"Thunderbirds," Harry realized by the description. "They were _made by wizards?_"

Khnurn nodded. "After a fashion. A lot of things are like that, and a lot of time it's an accident more than intent. Magic has a will of its own, and it does what it wants at the strangest times." He stroked the black cat at his side carefully, and Harry stared.

"She's a magical creature too," he said in understanding. "Some kind of Kneazle?"

The cat bristled in outrage, showing off its wicked gleaming claws, and Harry reflexively grabbed his arm, remembering the bright scars that had stood out for years on the skin; four parallel lines. Khnurn laughed softly at his reaction.

"Definitely not a Kneazle, then." Harry frowned, looking up with hard eyes as he finally had the chance to have some questions answered. "It got me with its venom. What did it do?"

"Haven't you guessed? Did you think that _I _could have sent you back?"

The cat purred softly as it stepped closer, and Harry tried not to jerk away, thinking back to those days of torture as he woke up in a lonely shack, unknowing of what was going on. He glanced up at Khnurn in confusion. "The _cat _did that? What...? If you're not involved, why avoid me for years, and then just show up out of the blue?"

Khnurn looked tired, then, sighing. "I won't tell you. Not yet."

"What, why?"

"You wouldn't understand," Khnurn said as he leaned back. "I would know."

"Understand _what?_" Harry growled. "I'm getting really sick of this stuff."

"Tell me, do you mean to marry the woman you live with? Do you love her?"

Harry scowled at the sudden change of topics. "What's that got to do with you?" He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I suppose the answer's obvious to you. If I did _that, _I could not possibly leave her alone again. Right now I have an out, I can leave for years without much trouble. If we were married..." He shook her head. "I wouldn't mind it at all, and she's pushed the topic often enough, but it would be unfair when I don't know what will happen next. It feels like it would be abandoning my past entirely, and I have already given up a lot of things."

"There's no way back there, except the long path," Khnurn said. "Traveling through time does not work when there is nothing to travel to, not even for my dear companion. The future is not yet written. Resent me if you wish." He gestured over. "There is something I have to tell you, though, just in case you finally face up to the facts."

"What?" Harry asked flatly. "Let me guess, you will tell me something important when I'm eighty and rolling around in a conjured wheelchair."

Khnurn frowned. "Don't have any children."

Harry paused for a long time, staring in disbelief. Finally, he opened his mouth. "Even more so than marriage, that's between me and her," Harry said fiercely. "Who the hell gave you the right to dictate what I do?"

"I see that a little of the Advisor's bullheadedness is genuine," Khnurn observed. "If you take any advice from me, follow that particular directive, because I _know_." He shook his head. "You lack experience, and without that, it's pointless to talk about this. You would never accept what I say."

"You are still not making any sense."

Khnurn snorted as he got up from his seat, staring at the caravan that was getting ready to leave. "Look for me in ten years. I'll try to be here. Maybe it will be time to leave some things behind, and tell you more that you need to know. Hopefully, you will have a good life."

Harry blinked and glanced up. "Ten _years?_" He started when he was looking at nobody. He looked around - Khnurn was gone.

* * *

**TWO WEEKS LATER - 3040 B.C.E. **

Harry dropped his coat, removing his fancy collar and putting it on the nearest clear space on his shelf. He was still mulling over his brief run-in with Khnurn and that damn cat. He claimed he would be gone for a decade, and Harry was unsure if he would have his questions answered even during their next meeting; the man seemed to thrive on withholding information.

"Nebit!" Harry called as he noticed the man bent over his desk, one that he had conjured for himself ages ago, and was holding up remarkably well. The man shot up in surprise, knocking his head against a shelf and rubbing his head with a wince. He managed to look sheepish as he backed away.

"I was simply curious," Nebit defended himself, but he realized Harry did not look even slightly perturbed. In reality, all the sensitive materials were locked away with spells, so there was not much to find, here. It was one precaution for getting a visit from someone who knew how to get through the protective spells, which was a very short list.

"Take a look around, if you want. You helped me out enough to merit a peek," Harry said easily. "Where's your sis?"

"Oh, she ran off with some guy a few weeks ago. I'd never seen him before." Nebit smirked as Harry stumbled, and he shook his head with a laugh. "She's sleeping again. You are easily startled, by the way."

Harry said some unkind words under his breath as he stretched. "The last of the captives are being led into the city, so I guess they'll be executed tomorrow." He grimaced.

"It does not matter," Nebit said lightly. "The war is over, Heru, and we have won. Be content and enjoy the moment. I am certain the Queen will have some words to share with you after what happened on the battlefield. I believe she is impressed."

"I'll believe _that _when I see it," Harry countered as he tapped his pocket. "I've got something for her; I found some nice jewelry on an enemy, and to the victor go the spoils." He reached in and retrieved two beautiful bracelets, adorned with gleaming gemstones. "What do you think?"

"She will kiss your feet for those," Nebit muttered. He laughed, then. "At least you have learned some things in your time here!" He walked to the door, and paused. "Before you go, you should wake Ahaneith. I am sure she would like to see you."

Harry frowned as he glanced outside; the sun was high. "She's sleeping in the middle of the day again, is she? I wish I could do something to make her more alert when I'm not around, but I don't know what exactly is wrong. I can't keep tossing charms her way whenever she gets tired."

Ahaneith had been in relatively good health after her brush with death, but she had never quite recovered from the ordeal. It had taken almost four months for her to fight through what Harry deduced to be some kind of lung infection, and she had seemed about to die for the whole duration. Harry had tried what he could, but he was no Medi-wizard, nor even a Muggle doctor. Ever since surviving that trial, Ahaneith had been perpetually short on breath. Harry supposed it was damaged tissue from the infection. He could prod her to wakefulness with spells, but it was really not much of a solution.

"If the Pharaoh calls for me, tell him that I will be with him in an hour," Harry noted. "Remember: If you see _anyone_ you don't recognize anywhere in the hall leading up to my door, yell. They're liable to be a wizard too, and you'll need magic to fight magic. Probably won't happen, but..."

"I will keep an eye out."

Harry nodded, and slipped into the bedroom. It was strange, really, that the situation which the Queen had arranged it still persisted to this day. The first few months, sharing a room was natural: Ahaneith was sick, and Harry was essentially the only one that knew he would not just catch her disease; quite a few servants had already gone out of their way to avoid tending to her for that reason. Ever since the disease ended, Harry had thought of bringing up putting another bed in the room, or getting another room for her, but every time she managed to convince him otherwise. Harry sighed. Finally he understood Bill a little, who dealt with Fleur all the time.

Ahaneith wheezed softly as she snuggled into her cushion, which she had already declared as one of his finest inventions. He supposed that the local equivalent, essentially a sack full of straw, probably did not really come close to his feathery versions. He was fairly sure that the Pharaoh had something somewhat similar, but that was because he was the _Pharaoh. _

Harry looked down on her with a vague smile, suddenly reluctant to prod her awake. Really, he could use a few days on a comfortable bed as well, after the flimsy equivalent that he had to conjure again and again, out on the road. This bed had cost him hours to get right, and he really did not have the time to replicate it too often. Perhaps he could just shrink it and take it with him in the future, but it would be problematic as long as he was sharing it.

Sitting on the bed as softly as he could, Harry put his wand in its usual spot on a shelf; that particular area was covered in Muggle-Repelling charms and at least half a dozen of his nastiest jinxes for anyone but him who came a little too close. They had never been used, but he could not be too paranoid about protecting the only proper wand around.

"...Heru?"

Harry turned slowly, looking at the sleepy Ahaneith, who blinked lazily. He reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm back."

She grinned. "You must think I am a real bore, lying in bed all day." She tapped the bed softly. "Come, there is room enough for two."

"Ahaneith..."

She stretched, taking a shuddering breath. "I take it that Nebit's been making bad jokes again, when you're looking at me like that? You should not take him too seriously, you know that."

"Actually, Mot's been doing most of that," Harry responded dryly. "The other day, well, I think he expects to have a few classmates for his kids in a few years. Honestly, you'd think he would grow up properly under my tutelage, but he's incorrigible."

"Little innocent Mot?" Ahaneith chuckled. "I suppose he's like you, then?" She paused. "You know, he is right about you. You really do look young."

Harry groaned. "Not you too? I thought the normal trend was for people to start thinking you're old?" He rubbed his eyes. "Honestly."

"Well, look at me," Ahaneith responded, raising an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you haven't seen the lines at my mouth, or my eyes. I shudder to check my hair, lest I find grey."

"Oh, come on, you're practically my age!"

Ahaneith sighed. "Not all are blessed like you, Heru."

Harry frowned, narrowing his eyes. Really, he had not noticed those tiny changes in Ahaneith; he saw her often enough, if only momentarily, that he could not remember when they had appeared. "You're still pretty, and I don't think anyone has ever complained that they still looked in their twenties, so I think we're good," he said.

"I certainly won't complain," Ahaneith agreed, tapping on the bed. "Come, don't be shy."

Harry rolled his eyes. "For someone who is always sick and tired, you are awfully demanding."

Ahaneith shoved the blanket away and grinned up at him. "And for a wizard warrior, you are astoundingly naïve."

* * *

**TWO DAYS LATER - 3040 B.C.E.**

"_Incendio Maxima," _Harry said with emphasis on the latter word, focusing on the figure before him. With a spark of fury it burst into a joyful inferno, the fire licking high at the ceiling and billowing across it, though thankfully that is where it ended. He lowered his wand and the fire slowly died down to a slow flicker as the wood was slowly consumed. "That's what I'm talking about when I mean that you can really make spells more powerful than what you are all doing. I'm sure that in time, this is within reach."

"Advisor?" One of the older women asked hesitantly. "I still can't make fire, at all. How...?"

Harry nodded as he saw two others wince - she was not the only one, then, just the one that dared to speak up. "Any more of you that had trouble getting this to work, during your off-time?" He looked meaningfully at the two men further along, and they shrank away a little. "Mes-sit, Hagiel, and Seker, you three stay behind, you're excused. For the others, I'd like to see how far you've gotten."

Harry stepped aside as he quickly replaced his dummy, and he smiled slightly as he thought of the startling similarities between this and some of his own lessons in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Although all his teachers for that subject stood out, for obvious reasons, Remus seemed the most appropriate to emulate. He was best at this sort of magic, and he had already taught it before, as leader of the D.A. This was honestly not that different.

"_In-cendio Maxima!"_ The first woman squeaked, looking slightly terrified that her wand might fall apart. Since it was a rickety-looking staff that only reached about halfway to the ground, this was a reasonable fear, though Harry was quite proud of that particular design. Only about two or three times the size of a proper wand, it was the closest he had gotten to something easy to handle. Unfortunately, the spell fizzled out before it even reached the target.

"I heard you stutter a little, Ara," Harry said neutrally. "Remember, certainty in your casting definitely helps, as does clear enunciation. I know the language is foreign, but it was the same for me." He gestured. "Your wand movement is accurate, as far as I can see. Try again."

She nodded, and frowned. For a moment her involuntary shivering stopped, and she narrowed her eyes. "_Incendio Maxima_."

A flame, only half the size of Harry's and decidedly cooler, engulfed the dummy and quickly began eating away at the hardwood at its core. Harry quickly vanished the outside. "Much better!"

Ara smiled broadly as she stepped aside to let the next one take a shot. Mot stepped forward. "Can I try, too?"

"That's a little unfair, don't you think?" Harry asked mildly. "You have years of training on top of most of the people here."

"Yes!" Mot agreed. "But that means everyone else here can be that good as well, right? I took only a few years to get close to where I am."

Harry shrugged, gesturing to the dummy. "Just don't burn my library down, would you? I've got them fireproofed, but you never know..."

Mot smiled as he aimed his staff. He spoke slowly, methodically, and he didn't appear to throw himself into it like the others. "_Incendio Maxima." _The fire blazed high and reached the ceiling, like Harry's had, and they both gawked for a moment as the heat reached them, a wave of sudden discomfort. Mot lowered his staff and grinned cockily. "How was that? I bet it was better than yours!"

Harry raised his wand, and it glowed an eerie red at the tip, and he looked at the boy with a raised eyebrow. "Do you really want to know how far I can go with fire, Mot? I've had six years _too_, you know, to get better. You've seen my research. You know the stories - they're pretty accurate."

Mot gulped.

Harry smirked as he lowered his wand. "But I won't show that to you now. Not in here, at least. Maybe I'll take you out to the desert, and show you what I'm really made of. Burning down a room is child's play compared to waking the desert." He tapped Mot on the head and looked at the others, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. "So yes, that is what you can accomplish if you keep at it, and more. Every spell should also help you with the others, since you'll get more practice, and I have left enough notes around here to muddle your way through most of the spells. I suppose you would still need me for the incantations, but this should work for the rest."

He summoned a small stack of scrolls, and took one out to show it to his students. Inscribed on papyrus, he and Mot had made more than a dozen detailed guides on wand movements of spells, alongside clear incidations of its purpose, also in pictures. Only Mot and one of the older men, a former priest of Ra, could actually read. Unfortunately, spelling out an incantation, which was usually already in Latin, was hell with the Egyptian alphabet. The pronunciation was even worse.

"There is something else. The Pharaoh wishes to have a new addition to his garden in a few days," Harry noted after a few moments. "He wishes a pond to complement the trees, so he can keep fish. Now, I have helped with similar tasks in the past, but I decided on doing something differently, this time." He raised an eyebrow. "You will be creating the Pharaoh's pond, using what you have learned as your guide."

Mot groaned as he took in the enthusiastic expressions of his fellow students. A few looked rather less enthused. Harry could understand that, since they were probably nervous. Harry himself had certainly been that, when he had first met the man.

"You can all go," Harry said then, cleaning up the corner of the study hall. Harry had actually built it a few years earlier, when it became clear that taking his students to the palace would be problematic, at best. Wishing to stay out of the commoners' way, since their tendency to bow to him was uncomfortable enough, Harry had bought a small plot near the noble sector, and raised a small hall in a single day, creating mud bricks right there, on the spot. The construction had attracted a lot of attention, and it was also how he had discovered Ara, a middle-aged witch that had approached him after he had finished. She was probably the most assertive of his students, after Mot, and he liked that attitude.

The people slowly filed out as Harry sat down on his private seat in the corner of the long room, running his hands over the filled cabinets along the walls, stuffed with books and notes. Most of those were Mot's, not his own, but there were sections dedicated to his notes, and his experiments with magic, most of which inevitably ran into dead ends.

"So..." He said after a long moment, looking at the three who were still there, looking nervously at him. "No progress, huh?"

Mes-sit shrugged helplessly, while Hagiel and Seker dithered.

Harry smiled as he sat down before them, on the little dais. "You know that in here, I'm just Heru, right? I might be a noble out there, but that doesn't count among this group." He pointed at Seker. "Show me what you can do. Here." He conjured a stuffed rabbit, and propped it up on the dais beside him. "Set him on fire."

"Adv-"

"Heru," Harry reminded him. "Come on, the _Incendio. _Let's see it."

Seker trembled as he brought forward his unsightly-looking staff, and aimed it. After a long moment of dithering he spoke. "_Incendio._"

There was a spark, and a whiff of fire even, but the spell fizzled out immediately, leaving only the slightest of scorch marks. Harry frowned as he looked at it. The incantation had been correct, as had the wand movement - well, as far as it could be accurate with his makeshift excuse - and there were no overt errors. It was like it was just - on the weak side. Like Neville, before he had grown out of it in later years, after he got some - ah.

"I take it that you all got the same kinds of results?" Harry wondered as he vanished the rabbit. "It works, but not quite?"

"We're not as - strong as the others," Mes-sit said hesitantly.

"Nonsense." Harry said shortly, waving off that idea. "Back at home, I was average. Oh, I could toss a few good spells around, and I had a knack for defensive ones, but I never really pushed myself to my limits. One of my friends must have known five times as many spells as I did, and if not for her, I might well have failed my education entirely." He looked at Mes-sit and smiled. "I was taught from a young age, when it's supposed to be easier to learn, and it still took me longer than Mot to get most of what I taught him. You are not that far behind, and you don't have the benefit of being a teen without commitments. I won't push you more than you can handle." He shrugged. "You all have the power to use serious magic, or those wands of yours wouldn't work at all. Consider Mot - even with a sub-par staff, he's getting quite good. He's had to replace it a dozen times, but he doesn't care about that."

"So why does he make huge pyres, and we..." He gestured. "Nothing?"

"I think I know," Harry began. "You must realize, magic is more than just a spoken word and a fancy wave of the wand," he added after a moment. "I've learned a lot about that in the last few years - I'm still learning about it myself. There are spells that work better with emotion, with a certain intensity brought to it. Some require some degree of anger, or hate, and I won't teach you those. Some, though, require joy, or good memories. _All of them_ require conviction. If you don't trust yourself, if you don't trust your magic, it won't trust you back."

It was sappy and dramatic, but Harry remembered that time he learned the Patronus charm like no other lesson, and the feeling of empowerment when he beat back his worst fears stayed with him. It had been his conviction that the Patronus would work, moreso even than any good memories, that had made it fuction so wonderfully. He had saved Sirius' life by using it, too. He wondered idly if he could find a Boggart in Egypt, and if so, if it would still turn into a Dementor.

"Conviction is not easily taught," Harry spoke at last. "Trust in yourself is more difficult even than trust in others, sometimes. Many of you had no idea what magic was until I came along, and were even afraid of what they did, sometimes, and covered it up." He looked over the three, wondering how much they had told each other. "You have magic, and that makes you a little special, that is true. Some of your family might dislike that you decided to come with me to the capital, despite my position at the court. Those are things that might be what's affecting your spells, more than any weakness. I don't really believe in that." Not after Neville, anyway.

"But Mot-"

"Ah, Mot." Harry smiled. "He was treated poorly for most of his youth, trapped in a foreign land. In all those years, he never gave up about getting out, about escaping. He managed to get himself free, actually. He is driven to succeed, and I don't think he trusts anyone quite as much as himself, since he was forced to do so under the worst of circumstances." He smiled sadly. "Children who grow up alone can be like that, independent. Suffice to say that his fear of magic did not outstrip his pride or his elation over unprecedented freedom. Now, it's _your _turn to learn to find that inner strength."

* * *

**Author's Note: **An obnoxiously long chapter with a whole bunch of different things. Harry as a doctor, a leader, a warrior, a teacher. Thus far, he is not yet the survivor, though. The next chapter will hopefully be out swifter than this one, but I have a ton of stories.

Temporary title: The Traitor. Tentatively has a 4-years to 6 years timeskip, and the first established characters start dropping.


End file.
